PRIDE & PRINCESSES
by Summer Day99
Summary: Pride & Princesses (SunriseHigh#1) is inspired by the scene between Darcy and Elizabeth at the dance. Only readers very familiar with Pride and Prejudice are going to notice similarities in this. Pride & Princesses is about first love, family and a group of friends & frenemies who invent a dating game to land the hottest boy in school; Mark. Read this before The Hotness & Popular!
1. ARRIVALS chapter 1

Copyright, Legal Notice and Disclaimer: 

Pride & Princesses

Copyright © 2012 Summer Day

All rights reserved worldwide.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without the express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

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_**Chapter 1**_

_**Arrivals **_

The first time I saw Mark Knightly, my world changed forever.

That morning began almost like any other. Eyes closed, under a cloud of dark hair, I tried to avoid waking up. I had trained myself to sleep through almost any noise, including the sound of the builders constructing a new house, across the road from my own. But when the jackhammer rang out for the third time, my best friend, Mouche (pronounced Moosh), screamed. She was curled up in a cashmere blanket on the faux chaise lounge in the corner of my bedroom catching up on her beauty sleep.

"Enough already..." she said theatrically, throwing her pillow at me as a sliver of light streamed through the open curtains. "Another bright and shiny Los Angeles day," Mouche added as she flipped off the couch and flicked her blonde highlights off her face. Mouche rubbed her eyes and glanced at the framed photograph of the Statue of Liberty. She gave it to me for luck, for my birthday and because Mouche and I have wanted to live in New York City for as long as I could remember.

"Never give up on the dream, Phoebe," Mouche said when she presented the picture to me, "New York is a great place to be a triple threat whereas Los Angeles is all about the movies, darling."

I glanced at the shifting sky and wondered how Mouche managed to look like a movie star at 8am. I threw the pillow right back at her.

"You have glitter face, Mouche." I said as I stretched my legs, "and I'm running late. My mom's plane arrives at the airport in exactly eight minutes. I promised we'd pick her up. C'mon, we've got to be ready. You need to get dressed."

"Touché," Mouche said (she'd been listening to French phrases on her iPod all summer). "By the way, you have mascara under your eyes, Phoebe. Better wipe it off before we leave."

"Okay, but I don't have time to put on make-up."

"That could be a mistake."

I looked at her incredulously.

"You never know how many casting agents could be at LAX," Mouche added as she dragged a brush through her tangles.

Because we both trained as ballet dancers, we were familiar with the art of stage make-up but I only liked to wear it on special occasions. I grabbed some gloss from the top drawer. I read in a helpful guide to dating called _Mrs Robinson's Advice_, that, "_a girl who can't be bothered with lipstick can't be bothered with life,"_ and I'd never want to be accused of that.

Mouche has always been good with make-up tips. You could see the results of our make-up experiments in every far flung corner of my bedroom. The place looked like a local beauty salon. It was obvious my bedroom hadn't been tidied the whole time my mother was away in London. Oh, that's something else you should know about me. I was born in England and sometimes I use British-isms like 'tidy' and 'lolly' and 'shop' instead of store.

"We're practically adults," Mouche said, "your mom's going to expect better housekeeping skills."

"It's true, this place is a mess, but at least I remembered to stack the cupboards with fresh food from the market," I said, as Mouche and I grabbed our sweaters and pulled on our Uggs in differing shades of caramel and pink.

"Unusual combination - boots and pyjama pants," Mouche noted, assessing her feet in the mirror. The only part of the glass not covered in used dancing shoes and feather boas from all the school plays we'd performed in, was the bottom right hand corner. Mouche flexed her ankles in the light.

"We should go. Better to be unfashionable than late," I said using words destined to return to haunt me.

"Uh huh, I'm not so sure," Mouche said.

I gathered my car keys and locked the front door. Mouche gave the builders across the road a V for Victory sign as we drove out of our little gated community. Sunrise is a tiny suburb, not far from Bel Air, but not nearly as posh. Mouche turned the volume of my car stereo up high. Music blared out of the windows as we drove past urban scenery. Suddenly we felt like we were in a classic road film as Mouche and I sang along with the words.

We were driving along the Los Angeles freeway for the first time, feeling very grown up, and this was a cause to celebrate. The fact that we were running extremely late by the time we arrived at LAX, ensured that I was in the right spot at the right time to view the arrival of 'the hot ones.'

It's just a pity that I wasn't looking my best when I saw Mark Knightly. I was looking, as Mouche said, "Like a 'slept-in' blanket". But as Teegan, one of the meanest Princesses in school, duly noted later, "He never would have noticed you anyway..."

Mouche had dropped me off at the international lounge at LAX and was looking for a car space. I was searching the arrivals board when people started to walk from the customs area to greet whoever waited for them.

I saw Mark Knightly first, but he was too busy to see me.

Teegan, who ran with a clique of besties known as The Princesses, was also at the airport that day with her family. She noted the arrival of the hot ones (as Mark and Jet became known) in her childish but addictive blog, "_Fresh off the boat and new in town_," she wrote. Then she proceeded to dissect every item of clothing both the boys and the girl who travelled with them wore.

"Even the sister could be a mini model if she just wore some make-up," Teegan sniped in her blog, "_but the boys_..."

They lit up the scenery as they spoke and I should know. After they entered the public arrivals area, they stood slightly in front of me. The boys paused and looked around them, speaking as they waited for the girl who trailed slightly behind. I was waiting for my mother, trying to hide my out of date boots and messy hair, behind a pole. So, although we never spoke, I think fate played a part when I saw Mark and overheard him talking first...

"Seems like the locals are pretty tame after the recklessness of Ibiza," Mark said languidly.

"I can't believe your uncle is such a tightwad he made us fly commercial." Jet replied.

"He's trying to teach us how to _rough it_," Mark mused sarcastically, using an expression he'd picked up on his travels.

"Never mind, the food was great and the flight attendants were hot..." Jet said, focusing on the upside of any given situation.

As the boys walked through the arrivals lounge, Mark Knightly looked at his surroundings with disdain. The thought of what he imagined his new home to be, an expanse of satellite suburbs beyond the hustle and smog of Los Angeles, seemed to fill him with distaste.

Suddenly Mouche appeared alongside me, breathless from the car park.

"Hey Phoebe, I managed to find a parking space...whoa...who are they?" Mouche whispered.

"The new boys in town...I guess," I replied.

Mouche acted swiftly. She whipped out her cell and took a few photographs of the hot ones.

"Quick, you take some from another angle," she added. "Why can't guys that hot ever go to our school?"

The new arrivals were dressed like stylish English hippies in dark sunglasses as they met with the girl, collected her luggage and strode towards a fancy car.

"Nobody even came to greet us," we heard the girl say sweetly.

"She sounds a bit..."

"Lost?" I added.

"I was going to say, vacant," Mouche whispered.

The dark haired, slightly taller boy took her arm in a brotherly gesture of solidarity and gave the younger girl a "make the best of it," smile.

Yes, they were soon to be Sunrise High's newest and most talked about 'poor little rich kids.'

"But so fashionable," Teegan remarked in her blog.

It's true that Mark and Jet wore cool, faux leather jackets ("friends of the wildlife," Teegan told Tory who told Freya who told Brooke who told Mouche, who told me).

That was all I saw that day because my mom arrived about three seconds later and scooped me up in a mom hug.

"Hey girls, I hope you were good while I was in Europe!"

"Of course, Trish," Mouche replied like the worldly-wise best friend she was. Mrs Mouche sells houses for a living and for exceeding their half-yearly targets, her entire sales team had been gifted a whirlwind summer vacation culminating in Florence, Italy.

"How exotic," Mouche had remarked when we both received photos the previous week, via email, of Mrs Mouche standing outside the Uffizi Gallery. "I love exotic places," Mouche remarked.

Later that day Mouche and I were lounging in Mouche's pool before classes started on Monday. We flicked through the cell phone images of the boys' arrival at LAX, deleting all but the best ones.

"It's ridiculous to be fans of guys we didn't know," I said.

"...who aren't even famous." Mouche agreed, but she couldn't resist the standard comment, "mmm...yummy..." and I totally agreed.

"His friend's hot too. Sometimes blondes have to stick together," Mouche replied.

Mouche and I had always been in competition. We had opposing hair color. As you may have gathered, mine's dark, Mouche's is light, but our major contrasts were not just cosmetic. We had different but complimentary personalities.

"Phoebe?"

"Mmm...I said as I applied Spf30..."

"We've been friends since we were six and I want you to know there is something truly comforting about this."

"Uh huh," I said. "What's with the deep and meaningful conversation?"

"Well, you know the sweater I borrowed and haven't returned yet?"

"My cashmere?" I asked.

"It got caught in the dryer and shrank."

I scowled.

"How could you? It was never supposed to go in the dryer in the first place!"

Mouche looked mortified.

"I know. I'm so sorry. I've been trying to think of a way to tell you."

"I wanted to wear it tomorrow..."

"I know..."

After a few seconds, I smiled.

"I suppose I could wear something else..."

"I promise I'll get you another one when I can afford it."

"That's okay..."

Money had been tight since our fathers absconded.

"Wouldn't it be great if there was a way we could just snap our fingers and get anything we wanted..."

"You mean...conjure up a treasure chest or something? Yeah, that'd be great."

Like sisters, Mouche and I have shared the spoils of our wars all through grade school and now high school. It's bound to happen in our first year of college. We even worked part-time at the local store all summer in order to save money for the ultimate dream – New York. One day, I aim to be a triple threat on Broadway; Mouche wants to be a lawyer. I have no idea why. Mouche loves legal dramas on television.

Both of our mothers are bachelorettes and quite young and wild and get along famously since they are the only 'single' Moms in our tiny street. You can see them now, sitting on the porch together 'catching up' on life in Sunrise over the past month, looking like they invented that famous phrase '_mommies who drink.'_

I jumped out of the pool and grabbed a towel. Mouche dived under the water and emerged with a piece of gold – a ring had been left in the water – with a tiny dolphin on it. It probably belonged to someone at last night's party – we'd walked over to Mouche's house (next door to mine) to go for a swim.

"Finders keepers," Mouche said with a glimmer in her eye, but I knew she'd hand it in to lost property at school the next day. That's just the type of person Mouche is – loyal and trustworthy.

If it weren't for the amazing competition Mouche and I feel at times, our friendship would be truly perfect.

I mean, we really are there for each other.

We both studied fashion and theatre design at the private school we attended in Bel Air until tenth grade (before our deadbeat dads had financial collapses) and we went loco (meaning local – to the performing arts school in Sunrise). Our daddies also turned gay for each other around that time and that's when our sisterly friendship became - how do they say it in those old English films? Very handy. Yes, that's right, _handy. _We might have needed some major therapy when Daddy Mouche and Daddy Phoebe ran off together, if it hadn't been for the strength of our friendship. We leaned on our sisterly bond in our darkest hours and focused on the pastimes we enjoyed, swimming, dancing and talking about boys.

Fate played a part in our simultaneous transfers to Sunrise High, after our parents split up. Even at grade school Mouche had saved me from the evil, fashion-challenged bullies who tried to steal my lunch, my purse and our collective sanity. Those nasty girls morphed into a select group known locally as The Princesses and they inhabited Sunrise High, as luck would have it, around the same time as us.

But before I tell you more about the people, I should describe the place.

Near Los Angeles you can locate the gated community of Bel Air (where Mark Knightly would later reside) and at the foot of the hill, our world – a tiny little satellite suburb known brightly and only as Sunrise, population three thousand and nineteen people, exists.

Amongst these people there were the usual small town individuals: the local dentists, doctors, nurses, lawyers, teachers, diner and shop owners, as well as a fair array of eccentric teenage characters, many of whom attended Sunrise High. The school was known for its 'Centre of Performing Arts Excellence,' the program in which Mouche and I and twenty-eight other students were enrolled.

Six of these so-called 'creatively gifted' students were boys. I'd kissed all six of them but only because we'd participated in "scene studies" for different plays we'd workshopped in theatre class over the past year.

"We've never kissed anyone as hot as Mark and Jet," Mouche said, taking another glance at the image of Jet on her cell (she'd sent me the one of Mark). Mouche had at least six photos of the boys from LAX taken from as many different angles.

"That's bordering on obsessive," I joked to Mouche, knowing we'd both faint if anyone found out we'd taken pictures of boys we'd never even met.

"Touché," I replied using Mouche's newly acquired French, "I've never really kissed anyone I was totally into."

"It's all about the kiss," Mouche said, "the kiss has to live up to your expectations or it's just never going to happen. I've been doing some private research. Some of the boys didn't want to be used for practice, if you know what I mean. Some were shy, some were confused or just bored or uncertain of the right way to go about it...I've been thinking there should be a manual..."

"You mean, like Teegan's blog?"

"Not really, I mean, Teegan's blog is just gossip. I think we need more actual research less filler..."

"You mean, like a dating manual for teenage girls?"

"Something like that, but more Sunrise specific..."

"You mean, like a date and rate?"

"Or maybe like a date and run. Remember when your mom went on her first date after the divorce? And the guy was such a sleaze she excused herself to go to the ladies room and crawled out of the bathroom window?"

"How could I forget?"

"Well, since we haven't had that much dating experience we should be open to research – our own and other people's ..."

"True."

That was the first time we discussed the idea of a dating manual for teenage girls. But we never expected, in the course of our 'research,' that we'd actually fall in love with Mark Knightly and Jet Campbell.


	2. Best Friends and Sisters chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

_**Best Friends and Sisters**_

When we arrived at school the next morning, Mark and Jet were nowhere to be seen. The boys were hanging out in packs. The girls had already formed their own little cliques: the usual stuff - sporty, indie, nerdy, skeezie, emo-wearing black. Study an ancient DVD of an eighties teen film and you'll get the idea. The Sunrise High general studies stream was a fusion of select public school purgatory. Only the fittest would survive.

Mouche and I had first walked the halls of Sunrise in sophomore year. We were transfer students and dance majors from the academy we attended in Bel Air: The Los Angeles High School for Young Ladies. Back then, we wore uniforms that made us look like little nuns. Public school was a big contrast. Huge. We barely had a dress code but were well acquainted with the Princesses when they appeared in the hall: a mirage, as if like magic.

"Magic? They are clearly bad girls in disguise," Mouche stated.

"Just _bad, bad, bad_," I reiterated. "I think boys like bad girls though, don't you?"

"Probably," Mouche conceded. "But who knows what the boys in this place are looking for?" Mouche said as we observed a Harry Potter obsessive adjusting his fake glasses and etching a lightning scar on his forehead with charcoal in preparation for an acting class. Mouche and I had lain low as transfer students and couldn't believe how unlucky we were when Teegan, Tory, Brooke and Freya were expelled soon after we were politely shown the door at the Los Angeles High School for Young Ladies. Oh, did I say ladies? It's not the most appropriate word. The Princesses were fairly considered to be the most evil teenage girls Sunrise had ever produced; two sets of non-identical twins with plans to take over their new school, safe in the belief that since their fathers _owned_ half of Sunrise, the school was theirs for the taking.

"This place is wild," Mouche said as we rounded the corner that led to a row of lockers.

"At least it's cheap," Brooke chimed in with mock consolation.

"I can't believe the Princesses have ended up at the same school as us...I heard they were _expelled_ from HSYL...big surprise..."

Then Teegan morphed into our world, like dry ice, her red hair as shiny as her lip gloss.

"It's less shameful than not being able to afford the fees," Teegan sniggered.

"Oops," Mouche said, placing her newly painted fingernails across her mouth as if she wasn't sorry she 'd been overheard. "I'd forgotten her extreme sensitivity during lunar eclipses."

Peter Williamson, meandering behind us, laughed out loud. He considered Teegan a hormonal witch on a good day.

I ignored the Princesses and began searching my locker for the greatest scene study text ever written, _An Actors Guide to Method Acting. _

Then, out of the dank and dull drudgery of morning classes, the boys from the airport appeared.

They looked stunning.

Mark had his sunglasses in hand, his dark hair freshly washed d and he smelled like _Boycandy _aftershave. Endearingly, he also looked lost as he tried to establish class locations. When he paused near my locker, looked up flustered, then looked back down again, I was totally lost for words. Mark managed to find six.

"Hello," he said hesitantly, looking at Mouche. "I'm looking for room...three..."

He was at least a foot taller than me (so was Jet) and I thought I had more right to be shy since they were total man models in disguise. I thought Mark was hotter, though, simply because I had been reading Austen and decided I liked dark haired men. But really, both of the boys were super hot.

Also, Mark was smart. Perhaps I was already a little intimidated by his grey matter. He was carrying a physics text after all. Mouche and I were clearly missing out on something ("some higher level of boredom," Mouche observed), because we did not understand physics, nor did we wish to.

Jet was quite garrulous for a boy and politely interrupted Mark. "I'm sorry, we're new, obviously, and we'd like to know where room 308 is located..."

I looked down at my folder then inched another glance beyond the paper towards a confused Mark Knightly. He looked so adorable in his black jacket and retro jeans. He definitely resembled a young James Franco. (Thereafter, pre-men like Mark will be known through the famed halls of Sunrise High, as _Francos.) _

But it was Mouche who led the way, "You can follow us if you like," she said.

"Most men would never admit they couldn't follow directions," Mouche whispered later.

"Oh...thanks," Jet said, giving Mouche a genuine smile, which she returned in full, "We might even have some subjects together, if you're lucky," Mouche said mischievously.

"Mmm, doubt it," Jet replied, "I don't take acting."

Mouche was slightly put out by Jet's comment and Mark was silent on the subject.

"Actually," Mouche added, "the mainstream academic students are combining with the performing arts majors this year for English class."

"Well good," Jet said, "then we're sure to see each other again..."

They talked on. It was obvious Jet liked Mouche and he was trying to make up for putting his foot in his mouth.

"I just realized," I told Mouche as we walked to class, "I forgot my schedule."

"Okay, see you in ten..." The small group walked on. I ran back to the hall and sorted through my locker, disappointed that neither of the boys took any of my subjects but hopeful Mark would be in my English class.

Peter Williamson, my sometime dance partner, was searching through his locker.

"Hey, Pheebs," he said.

"Hey, Pete."

"Who are the newbies?"

"Two words," Teegan interjected, "no chance. They're straight."

"Mmm..." Peter said, probably just to annoy the Princesses, "I believe that was more than two words. A boy can dream..."

I looked at Peter and smiled. He raised his eyebrow and gave me a knowing glance. On cue Teegan snapped at us.

"_As if,_" Teegan said trying to retrieve a twisted ballet ribbon that was stuck in the fold of her civilian shoes, "real men don't dance."

Peter Williamson looked at Teegan with distain and curled his lip and flicked through his iPod playlist.

"Do you like my skinny jeans, Teegan? I got them from the girl's section..." Peter said, just to freak the Princesses out.

Teegan looked a bit scared.

"Easily shocked," Peter mouthed. Peter's been into Glam Rock forever. I smiled then turned my back on the lead Princess.

I finally found my schedule. Peter made a victory sign and stuck his tongue through his fingers, muttered, "Later," to me and made a cat's claw gesture behind Teegan's back as he sauntered off to class.

"Well, look at you Phoebe. Haven't you smartened up your image," Tory, (the second in line to Teegan's throne), noted as she shut her locker door. The hinge metal was lined with faux pink fur and pictures of all the narcissistic celebrities Tory idolizes. At the moment her hair is bleached blonde in homage to her favorite celeb from some random teen TV show.

"Our dream, people, is to be famous for being famous," Tory announced to her girl posse that morning. It was hardly news to those of us who knew her well.

The Princesses were usually too self-focused to pay any attention to me although they were more wary when Mouche was around. Alone, I was fair game.

"Wonder where the sister is?" Teegan mused aloud, her thoughts still trailing the newbies.

"Petra is nowhere in sight. She hasn't been seen for days. Rumor has it she's being _home-schooled_." Brooke (the third Princess) shuddered in a hushed d tone.

"Why? Tory asked.

"Because she's a _freak_," Teegan whispered, already jealous of Petra's close proximity to Mark.

"Ew, she's his sister," Freya remarked during assembly, a little late to catch the crux of the conversation.

The girls all looked up and rolled their eyes. I wondered who the real freaks were and it seemed like Teegan and Tory were sure to fit the bill. What a surprise.

I hurried to class thinking about what Mouche told me over the summer.

Being practically psychic, Mouche predicted a month ago that some _"nasty girls that we already knew were going to cause trouble" _and "_two hot boys"_ would arrive for junior year.

I prayed the second part of her prediction would come true and now it had. The strange thing was, after almost a whole school year as "creative transfer students", Mouche and I had managed to fly under the radar, but everyone knew the names of Teegan, Tory, Brooke and Freya from the minute their well-manicured feet stepped through the polished d halls of Sunrise Performing Arts High School. They actually wore color co-ordinated sweaters that fell below their crotches and were belted tightly above their waists that first day they arrived - just to get noticed. It worked.

"Those girls are fashion criminals," Mouche stated when they sauntered down the hall like a posse of Bratz Dolls. The Princesses had been expelled from HSYL for "_undisclosed reasons"_ but were passably talented so they ended up here. Their primary focus in life seemed to be driving a wedge between other females and boasting about their popularity with the male species. I could've told them jealousy and bitterness were wasted emotions but they'd never have listened.

Instead, I did my best to ignore them.

At lunch, Mouche and I sat apart from the Princesses, trying to work out some on-paper choreography for dance class. We overheard them speaking about Mark and Jet in the lunch queue, though.

"Three words...Mark. Knightly. _Franco_." Teegan over-enunciated loudly, stealing my pet term. "I actually witnessed Mark Knightly's arrival at LAX when I touched down from Eye-bee-tha."

"She knows how to pronounce Ibiza," Mouche whispered. "We can all sleep well tonight because Teegan has learnt how to pronounce the name of an island off the coast of Spain," Mouche said. Mouche was way smart.

"Mark Knightly _totally_ wanted me when he arrived in Bel Air," Teegan continued, adding, "We locked eyes in _The Reader's Nook._ Oh well, girls, you can't rape the willing,"

The Princesses laughed.

"I didn't know she read," I whispered to Mouche.

"Teegan's love of literature is well-known," Mouche stated loudly as she gestured towards Teegan's copy of _Teen Vogue._

Admittedly, we both loved _Teen Vogue_ but Mouche was out to prove a point.

"Teegan just loves an audience," Mouche said, as Tory continued.

"...And Jet was undressing me with his eyes this morning, in the hallway before homeroom."

Brooke rolled her eyes, "Everyone wants the pretty," she said smugly, "I bet I could even turn Peter straight."

Freya looked doubtful. I turned my head to glance over at the new boys, hopefully without them realizing it. To my dismay, they were looking at the Princesses who smiled gleefully right back at them.

"Wishful thinking," Mouche mused as she ate her sandwich.

"Oh please, those girls are disgusting," I said, wondering if what they said was true about how much all the boys wanted them.

"How they are so secure about their popularity with guys, I don't know, since there were no males at all to practice on in our previous school," Mouche added.

"Maybe they did a summer internship," I added.

Mouche laughed.

"C'mon," Mouche said and we wandered off to the gym to prepare our shoes for the prospective year. We pulled our pink ballet slippers, newer than they would ever look again, out of our individual tote bags.

At the gym, we began rolling the moistened, darned tips of pink satin shoe in chalk in preparation for class. We smacked the ends on the gym floor to soften the toes. It was quite a long process and one we started at the beginning of the school year and repeated many times. We had to soften the soles, but not too much. There were a few other dance majors in a huddle with us. They all had good posture and acted friendlier than they really were.

Although Mouche and I want to go to New York one day, I'm very focused on high school life and training to become a triple threat, whilst Mouche concentrates on dance, acting and her academic majors.

Our day goes something like this:

_**Morning**_

_Home room_

_English_

_Biology_

_History_

_**Lunch**_

_Dance class_

_Singing class_

_Acting class_

_**Home room**_

As you can see, my schedule beats the usual academia from nine to three plus I managed to drop math and science, which is a good thing because I am totally driven. Even though I might seem shy, I'm never shy onstage, when I'm pretending to be someone else – living in the moment, so to speak.

By the time the Princesses -Teegan, Tory, Brooke and Freya - arrived in the gym, it was pretty obvious they thought they were slumming it at Sunrise High. The girls had an air of superiority which clung to them like cheap cologne. Their dance ensembles were still color co-ordinated, but mercifully their matching black leggings were covered by mini-skirts in various styles (bubble, pleated, ruched and vintage A-line). They were so psyched about not having to wear the HSYL uniforms; they kind of went overboard in the fashion department. The Princesses thought dance class was a beauty pageant.

They thought they were totally _it._

"We're going to get with so many guys this year," Teegan snarled as she whipped off her skirt and re-tied the satin ribbons on her ballet shoes. She stuck her foot close to the bar next to my hand.

"I was warming up," I said.

"Excuse me!" Teegan snarled haughtily.

I inched my fingers out of the way as Tory walked over, claimed her spot on the bar and began to flex her ankles.

It wasn't that Tory was a bad dancer, but she was certainly uninspiring. Although the Princesses never planned on careers in the entertainment business, it didn't make them any less snarky about women who did.

Tory found her spot on the wall and began her mechanical plies. Brooke fumbled around in her tote bag searching for her hair clip. Teegan abandoned the bar and applied extra gloss to her ample mouth and Freya pulled her hair into a tight bun, keen to look the part even if she couldn't dance it. Wow, now I'm starting to sound like a Princess.

Besides, I'm giving you the wrong impression.

The Princesses aren't the main characters in this story. They are just the featured extras, the minor players. They may highlight our plot from time to time but I can't say for sure how big a part they'll play as the story progresses.

For now, this tale is really just about me and Mouche and Mark Knightly and his best friend Jet and all the teenage boys we determined to transform from geeks to our personal princes in the course of a year.

This story is also about the plan of action that became a guide we intended to modify as the year progressed. The plan that became the _Boy-Rating Diary._

"I'd give them a 9.9," Teegan said as she performed a reasonable arabesque.

"I'd give them a 9.8" Mouche replied after she did a perfect pirouette. "There's always room for improvement."

"I think you're talking about the same men," I said under my breath as I pointed my toes and leaned over the bar.

"Game on," Mouche replied with a smile.

"But we haven't even worked out the rules," I whispered under my breath.

"A minor detail," Mouche replied.

"Not necessarily," I said.

Everyone stopped talking when Mrs Stefanovich, the dance teacher, arrived.

Mrs Stefanovich was Russian and very strict and even the Princesses were careful to toe the line with her.

"Okay girls, ve are ready now... begin."

But the whole class, I was thinking about how we'd devise _the plan_. And as I looked across at Mouche's furrowed brow, I could tell, so was she.


	3. Girl History chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

_**Girl History**_

Now before I let you in on the game plan for boy-dating and rating, I should really give you some historical information.

Mouche and I met in first grade which is why, although we don't condone the Princesses" prickly behaviour, we do understand the bond fused between them.

There was also a subtle but competitive bond between me and Mouche.

You can really trace the competition between us back to our first day of nursery school when Mouche turned up in the same pink-spotted smock and leggings and immediately noticed a usurper for _most fashionable_. We ended up having a painting competition that morning. Most of the paint landed on me and we spent the afternoon sitting in opposite "time out" corners.

We bonded after the shared punishment. Then we found out we liked the same things (reading, painting and performing), until Mouche, who didn't even want to _be_ on Broadway, stole my agent. Well, I suppose you could say my agent (and his Simon Cowell accent) stole her. Anyway, it worked out for the best since Mouche and I started to attend acting auditions after Thom (pronounced Tom) saw us in a school play.

We rarely secured the jobs from those auditions, but travelling into Los Angeles, we still managed to share a laugh and a cab ride back home. Our mothers, Mrs Mouche and Trish, took it in turns to accompany us. They were willing moms but unwilling stage mothers. We literally had to drag them along because we were legally required to have guardians. They just didn't get the whole acting thing and were wary of their children "being exploited." Pl-lease. We totally wanted to be exploited (because back then, we didn't even know what the word meant).

That's sort of how Mrs Mouche and my mom, Trish, met. After our Daddies ran off together they became _slummy mommies_ and _mommies who drink_. Incidentally, the other neighborhood mommies were probably a lot more badly behaved than our mothers. In fact, the Sunrise Golf Club was recently revealed to be a hot bed of suburban lunchtime affairs. But Mrs Mouche and Trish were under the microscope because their men had run off together. Sunrise thrives on low-level gossip and scandal but absent fathering is no reason to brand us as the underprivileged offspring of dysfunctional parenting.

It's funny how you need "more" community support when something goes awry in your family but people, in our case, gave us less. It takes a village... For example, each of our fathers let our mothers know that "_education was wasted on girls who would just grow up and get married like they did"_ – well, not quite the way they did. Our Daddies might be gay but it doesn't mean they're not just as chauvinistic as other men. I mean, what century are we in people, _the eighteenth_? However, if both our Daddies hadn't stopped paying our school fees by the time we turned fifteen, we would not have transferred to Sunrise and junior year may never have happened as it did.

Unfortunately, our plans for boy dating and rating were heading for dust once the Princesses arrived at Sunrise High. Although their mere presence inspired us to take notice of the way boys behaved around them, the truth is, even they were shocked by how much the boys seemed to ignore them after their initial surprise. They thought a co-ed school would be different and "the cute girls" would be worshipped by every boy who crossed their paths. But so far, they were wrong. They were being overshadowed by the newbies.

By the third day of the new semester, Mark and Jet made a re-appearance, late, at exactly three minutes past nine in our combined home room class.

The Princesses were sitting in a pack towards the front and Mouche and I were sitting in the corner. I was staring through the window wondering how I'd ever get out of Sunrise when Mark brushed d past me to hand a late slip to Miss Tartt who was obviously taken with him. You could tell she thought he was good-looking by the way she fluttered her eye-lashes s.

"You're late," she said, looking up at him from beneath her spectacles. She was clearly appreciating his masculine energy when I noticed the edges of her mouth turn up in a slight smile. You could almost hear her thinking, "if only I were sixteen again..."

Mark was quite apologetic.

"Yes, please excuse me...Miss Tartt. I'm Mark Knightly..."

"And you are?" She peered at Jet.

"Jet Campbell," Jet said affably. "We had to re-check our schedules."

Miss Tartt was smiling sweetly by this point. She gestured to the boys to take a seat after she'd ticked the roll.

Mr Sparks was team-teaching with her that morning and in the process of announcing his plans for the play of the year, an updated version of Romeo and Juliet called _Rocco and Julie._

"Oh help us all," Mouche mouthed as she rolled her eyes and pulled her beret over her ears.

I glanced at Mark when he wasn't looking in our direction, wondering if I'd ever have the courage to speak to him. I also considered the possibility that in all the romantic literature Mouche and I had ever read, good intentions were surer if the boy made the first move.

"My fellow Thespians, this is a story about true love. All the best stories are. Auditions will be held at 3pm, Thursday. I want you all there and not just the drama majors – we need the boys for extra credit please. This, our combined junior class production, is sure to be a masterpiece..."

Jet laughed out loud.

"Any more of that negativity and I'll see you in detention," Mr Sparks said pointedly.

Mr Sparks really believed he could improve on the original script using modern language. Since Shakespeare wasn't around to tell him otherwise, his word was law. Mr Sparks was our combined home room teacher (and a seriously hard marker) so it paid to find a way to at least pretend to like him.

"Phoebe Harris?" Mr Sparks called out my name as I chewed my pencil and looked outside at the fallen orange leaves. I was wondering how in the world Mouche and I could make this year the best ever before the drama of college applications and everything else took over our lives. I raised my hand and noticed Mark glancing in my direction.

It's true; I subsequently discovered that Mark's late arrival on his third day as a transfer student was not his fault. His family couldn't have been thrilled that he was attending Sunrise (he'd applied too late for any private school acceptance), but perhaps the superior tone he used when he spoke again could have been avoided.

"And what is your name be, Sir?" Mr Sparks said in a most theatrical manner as Mark started to leave the room.

"Ah, Mark Knightly," he replied, sounding ridiculously uncomfortable. Mark had a rich voice. He spoke like a boy with a lot of money who has been told a few too many times he is extra good-looking. I could tell by his tone that he was not exactly thrilled to be repeating junior year in a different time zone. He'd almost graduated high school in England where they even have a separate school for senior year.

I had the opportunity to consider him once more in repose now that he was engaged in conversation with Mr Sparks. Mark was tall and wore his dark hair slightly long and swept across his forehead. He had cobalt blue eyes and a smile that Mouche would later describe as, "kind of dangerous." He also looked very embarrassed to have been singled out and ignored Mr Sparks when he asked him another question about whether he would sign up for the play. This made Mr Sparks go completely ballistic and he immediately signed up Mark to be stage manager of the new _Romeo and Juliet. _Mark just cringed in his seat and was the first person to escape when the bell rang.

"He's totally hot, _what a Franco_," Teegan said as she flicked her cherry hair in my face on her way to acting class. I was yet to publicize my new phrase in _The Sunrise News_ and already the Princesses were coining the term as their own. C'est la vie. Perhaps copying a trend really is the highest form of flattery.

"I'm definitely going to get the lead role in this," Tory added as she pulled down the freshly printed poster announcing the auditions for _Rocco and Julie _out in the hallway.

"Just the name sounds totally sad," Mouche said, "but we are so going to audition because I know one Princess who could do with a little competition."

"You said it, Mouche," I added, under my breath.

"The lead role will definitely go to Tory. She is perfect for the part," Teegan quipped, smoothing her lustrous locks.

"Don't be so sure," Mouche added. "Phoebe is auditioning as well."

"But Tory's been working professionally all summer," Teegan countered. Tory looked a little bit surprised and very annoyed since I'd been the star of the HSYL freshman showcase, when all the agents from Los Angeles came to the school to see if there was anyone who would interest them. That's kind of how Wednesday (Mouche's baby sister) and Mouche and I signed with an agency called _Thom's Kidz_ (but more on him later, I promise).

"You know everyone is invited to audition, Tory. May the best actress win!" Mouche replied.

Tory stuck her nose in the air and checked her lipstick a third time before walking down the hall with Freya, Teegan and Brooke. That clique of juniors managed to look down on everyone and anyone and may have even convinced us all (including the teachers who they were super nice to) that they walked on air.

At lunchtime, Brooke, spaniel curls hanging perilously close to her food, could be heard moaning over her Jell-O, "I just don't know why there are so few hot guys in our town, even if the population is small. Mark Knightly is so cute he could start a riot around here."

Freya, who was flicking through the images of her pony club trip via cell, looked up and said as an afterthought, "I agree."

Tory smiled a big, toothy, insincere smile as she checked her gloss.

"And... he wants to major in pre-med at Yale or Harvard," Teegan said, crossing her Barbie legs in agreement.

"I heard his uncle owns a huge castle in Scotland and his family harbors a very dark secret..." Tory added, tying her sweaty locks in a ponytail.

"Shh," Brooke said, "Mark and Jet are coming over right now."

The boys gave us wicked little grins.

"Spreading the love," Mouche said under her breath.

Mark slid over onto one of the side tables and pulled out his study notes while Jet started playing some computer game then passed a basketball with his feet back and forth under the table towards Mark while they ate.

They looked over at me once when I was reading. Then, as soon as Mark and Jet had finished d eating they ran out onto the playing fields, laughing at all the performing arts girls (us) as they slid out of the room. It was as if they had their own private joke, ignoring us. Well, ignoring almost everyone. Mark walked over to speak as he left, but turned, thought better of it, then glanced at Mouche and me and walked away. Peter was walking across the courtyard at that moment giving Mouche a cheeky grin. They had arranged to rehearse some dance moves.

"Later, Pheebs," Mouche ran outside to greet Peter, who relayed to her a snippet of conversation he overheard as he was doing up his shoes.

"It's always the same for me," Jet said, as they walked outside.

"What do you mean?" Mark asked.

"Always a feast or a famine."

"Petra thinks you're conceited; now I know why."

"Your sister is kind of spacey, so I won't take that too seriously. I mean, can I help it if a bunch of man-starved hot chicks throw themselves in my path? Have you checked out that cute little blonde girl we spoke to this morning?"

"Not really. I'm too busy noticing we're practically in Hicksville. All this culture is really overwhelming. I'd forgotten how much I dislike Los Angeles." Mark said.

"LA is not so bad. C'mon, it's the City of Angels. Besides, what's so great about London at 6am? Parts of the city are seriously unclean. I mean, people spit on the streets there, and worse."

"Yeah, I guess, but outside of Beverly Hills, we barely _walk _on the streets here."

"I love being home. I love the air and I missed the food."

"I guess. There's no place like home. I'm just kind of worried about my sister. Since our parents died, my aunt and uncle have insisted on sending her to that girl's school. I just know she's going to hate it."

"It's kind of a bummer... your sister's so..."

"What? Weird?"

"No, I was going to say, shy. Special."

Mark rolled his eyes. He knew Jet was being sarcastic.

The boys had moved to the basketball court and began to shoot hoops.

"After our parents died she stopped eating and became so introverted. I think she needs friends."

"From what I hear, she's not going to find them at the Young Ladies Academy."

Jet shot a near perfect hoop.

"Great, that's what I thought."

Mark took over and bounced the ball, keeping it from Jet with his right palm.

"I mean, we just saw the results. Did you see the way those girls were all "jostling each other for the last diet soda at lunch? Apparently they got expelled from _The High School for Young Ladies."_

"Shouldn't hold that against them, we got thrown out of Loratio Academy, remember?" "Yeah, but those women are vicious, man. If you're considering introducing them to Petra, I'd think again. The Queen Bee..."

"Which one's that?" Mark was yet to learn girl-speak and found the language faintly irritating.

"I think her name's Teegan."

"Oh," Mark said contemplatively.

"Like I said, I'd think again..."

Peter continued, "then the newbies went back to the basketball court; more physicality, less conversation. Guys are comfortable relating via sporting analogies. Jet was probably shocked that Mark had even mentioned his sister. Men don't reveal their emotions easily..." Peter told us dramatically, I'd joined them both outside and listened intently.

Mouche was taking it all in.

"Thanks Peter. Your take on the situation has been enlightening..." Mouche said as she jotted down a few notes to expand her love theories later.

I looked around at a bunch of students weaving through the courtyard.

"Are all of these students going to grow up to become adults and what will they take with them into the big wide world?" I mused quietly.

"The same bigoted, self-centered personalities they've displayed here," Peter said.

Mouche smiled. I laughed in agreement. It seemed most of the sixteen year olds I knew had personalities designed to last a lifetime. They certainly hadn't changed in the twelve months I'd known them - some of them hadn't changed since first grade.

Last year we'd heard snippets of love conversation flying past us in the halls. That was when we were the semi-anonymous newbies and nobody seemed to care if we heard their scurrilous talk.

Boy talk.

"_Didn't those two hook up?"_

"_Yeah, that's what I heard"_

"_So, did he get some?"_

"_Yeah, I think so."_

"_The new student teacher is totally hot..."_

_Ah, hello, the new student teacher is male but drama boys can always be relied upon to be somewhat artistic in their choices._

"_Did he get some? The new student teacher?_ Are they dreaming? I mean, there's romance combined with delusion for you there, right there." Mouche said.

"Obviously, we are focused on our career plans with good reason." I replied.

There's also another reason. When we first arrived for sophomore year, our cousins, Ella and Katie (who are slightly younger than us) had been here since freshman year. They're not our besties but we are still blood relations and that means something. Our cousins were actually asked out on a sort-of double date with Alex Miller and one of his friends, Tom Allen.

Prior to last year, we'd never really spent much time with our cousins. Ella and Katie (who'd started to call themselves Elle and Kate) preferred to hang out with each other which suited Mouche and me because they were super-giggly and boy-crazy. Not so boy-crazy that they'd do anything illegal in the back of the Sunrise bowling alley, though.

The day after their 'big date' my cousin Ella and Mouche's cousin Katie told us that Alex and Tom spent most of the evening trying to outdo each other and Tom even "forgot" his wallet and made them pay for everything.

Ella continued, "Then, after ignoring us for an hour and conversing with each other, they tried to _get on us _in their car so Katie and I mutually decided to end the 'date.' The girls had been learning karate and had apparently had to get tough with those badly behaved boastful pre-men.

"So I guess you could say we _double dated at the bowling alley. _It was kind of fun, but not as much fun as Alex Miller and Tom Allen _say_ they'd had." Katie added.

We were surprised to learn via the _Alex-Allen_ web site that "hanging out" with Ella and Katie had evolved into a full on scandal the following week. Even the Princesses got to add their ten cents worth. Ella and Katie had morphed from nice to seriously heinous and slutty. Then, because the words of males seemed to hold more value than the words of females, the students in general believed the boy's version of the story.

"People need to learn a lesson," Mouche mused, "a lesson in social etiquette."

"And we are just the ones to teach them," I realized. We wanted to challenge ourselves to motivate these pre-men and women; to interest them in the romantic trysts of another era; without them realizing they were part of our game - a game we could turn into fun with quotes and helpful hints and even a treasure hunt.

That's how the plan for the_ Boy-Rating Diaries_ came into existence and was ultimately turned into a dare.

Mouche once said, "Sometimes I think we belong in a Jane Austen film or a Bronte novel. When I was little, like twelve, I thought my first great love affair would be exactly like _Wuthering Heights." _

"Except you don't need to die at the end," I replied.

"Of course not," Mouche said, "but not all the best stories have happy endings."


	4. Gossip and Rules Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4**_

_**Gossip and Rules**_

That evening, I was finishing my homework in my room when Mouche came over to invite me for a swim. After school I just liked to relax and hang out with Mouche and her baby sister, Wednesday, but I usually had to finish my homework first. Since my mom was at work, I grabbed my suit.

"Don't bother with the towel," Mouche said, and off we went to climb the fence between our houses, like we'd done for the past decade.

As we lay on our lounges, we considered the merits of our Sunrise News Blog – something we'd been updating for the past year - the live feed anti-snark version of the Princess Blog. You could visit the Sunrise News Blog anytime of the day to hear about the daily life of Sunrise High in cyberspace. was nastier and more exclusive; fashion tips for the desperate and dateless, unfortunate Sunrise High teachers, that sort of thing. The Princesses always wanted to control the legitimate "school blog", _Sunrise News_, but Mouche and I (token editors), had other ideas.

"Always have the end in sight at the beginning," Mouche began. "Planning is the basis of every successful enterprise..." You could just tell Mouche is going to be a sensational lawyer someday, though I'm not entirely sure what she has in mind.

We'd been planning for a while.

The last weekend of vacation was spent watching hundreds of old high school and romantic movies for ideas. It had been a truly amazing summer holiday filled with evenings of swimming, feasting, DVD watching and looking over all our old photographs and letters to each other, written in baby-handwriting in those early years before we gained access to texting and the web.

Antique memories made us sentimental.

By third grade, we used to drop off notes before school for the other to read when they got home and thus began our pink leather bound, feather-writing hobby; a rehearsal for the Boy-Rating Diary we would one day co-author.

We had a secret hole in the brick wall between our fences where we kept my grandmother's cake tin lined in plastic to protect the letters from the rain. And every afternoon I would sit on my grandmother's porch (she only lived one street away) and read or write to Mouche – depending on whose turn it was to do either.

We shared a lot of secrets over those years, stuff that doesn't seem important now but really seemed to matter when we were eight, and ten and twelve.

It was our discussion on the third night of junior yearthat led to the drafting of _The Boy Rating Rules - _that and our supernatural instincts.

Sometimes Mouche and I don't even have to talk to know what the other is thinking and Mouche can occasionally predict events that haven't yet happened, but never for herself, only for others and only if they are good.

That night, Mouche had her Tiffany playing cards spread before her. She had made up a different meaning for each card and had amusing ways of applying different people to each of the playing cards which "inspired" her vibes about the future. For example, the Queen of Hearts was red (light in color) and represented her and her desire to fall in love. I was the Queen of clubs (dark hair, pale skin) Teegan (Diamonds, light hair (red) but "money-orientated" and Freya the Queen of Spades (a dark haired untrustworthy female - at least, that was the meaning for the cards tonight). Then Phoebe would put all the face cards representing the girls she knew and cut cards (red meaning 'yes' and black meaning 'no') until she had dealt the final card to answer her question.

Tonight's question was, "will Mouche meet the love of her life this year?"

If the cards were dealt until the end and either me or Mouche or both of us ended up with a red card, we would meet 'the one'.

"Of course, a real teen psychic wouldn't need cards but sometimes our intuition about ourselves requires a little push along. Besides, I'd never claim to be totally psychic, just kind of telepathic. I can feel when the Princesses are using their negative energy against us," Mouche said, spraying essential oils to deflect bad energy.

"Oh, me too. I'm not _actually_ psychic, but I totally read people. I sense it when they like me or when they give me their nasty, jealous vibes..." I added.

We'd both been victims of the jealous vibe at HSYL. In any case, our card games were just for fun. We had a rule – never to ask a bad question that we didn't want to know the answer to and never to dwell on anything negative or mean.

Mouche was still dealing; she had nine cards left...

"Red, red, black, red, black...and here are the answers for two Princesses: Teegan (black), Tory (black), and Phoebe..."

"Don't turn it!" I suddenly screamed.

"It's just a game Pheebs, besides, you can never be sure of the vibes for yourself...and only God knows the future..."

"Oh. Okay," I was ready to look with one hand covering my right eye "...red."

Phoebe smiled.

"Now it's my turn... you know what? I'm not going to look!"

"You promised!" I yelled.

"The future is what you make it; it can change every second...I'm going for a swim."

Just as Mouche stuck her card in the middle of the pack, a corner hung out. When she turned her back to dive into the water, I sneaked a peak.

The card was red. It was the Ace of Hearts. True love.

"Our Game will make junior year the most memorable yet," Mouche declared over ice-cream, after we'd cleared away our playing cards, runes, tea leaves and crystals.

Mouche dragged me back into the pool. We lounged under the night lights on Wednesday's huge, plastic, floating goldfish. Mouche dragged me around with her until we were playing whirlpool and before we knew it, we were having a water fight about whose ideas ruled.

Have you ever been swimming at night in the heat? It's amazing, even though Mouche's older brother, Trey (the grouch), kept yelling at us from the study window to _turn it down_ when we started playing Muse.

Trey was studying pre-med and was a total brainiac with no time for the absurdities of two teenage girls, even if one of them was his sister; especially if one of them was his sister.

"Hey, quiet!" he shouted. "I'm trying to study and Wednesday's supposed to be asleep."

Admittedly, we'd slipped one of Mrs Mouche's cocktail mixers into our sodas and were feeling extremely giddy; however, we realize teen drinking is not okay and so wrong (especially when near water or highways) and would never recommend it to our readers.

We had serious hangovers the next morning. Mrs Mouche locked up the liquor cabinet when she found out and Trey promised never to leave us entirely to our own devices again.

After dancing to retro music dressed in the 1920"s outfits we'd worn in last year's version of _Guys and Dolls, _we collapsed in a corner, embraced sobriety and resumed our discussion about the perfect junior year.

Our ideas were all pretty...ordinary: film club, blog page additions, debate club, a musical, an entire month devoted to writing up the play rehearsals, a fashion show, a themed prom (that would be left to the Princesses in the end) until Mouche and I started talking about how the mainstream boys at our school were very romantically de-motivated, and most of the artistic majors were obviously more than a _little_ gay.

None of the males at our school behaved the way males in great romantic literature and films behaved (like Heathcliff in _Wuthering Heights or Mr Rochester in Jane Eyre)._ And maybe that was a good thing. But in some ways, the fact that chivalry is dead is bad. I mean, I can open my own door but when I have a heavy bag and props, couldn't the man of my dreams open it for me? And shouldn't he want to? Of course, I can buy my own movie ticket but wouldn't it be nice if my perfect man wanted to buy it for me? Just to prove his devotion? I could return the favour, of course.

Mrs Mouche says to hit them in the hip pocket because money matters more to men than to women. I'm not sure if that is true at our age but it might be the case when you're older. Mrs Mouche has definitely instilled a good value system in her children. Even though Wednesday (Mouche's baby sister) can barely talk, she is very good at sharing, and Mouche actually has a social conscience. For example, there was a documentary about world famine on television as we were preparing some dinner.

"Why are most of the world's poverty stricken women and children?" Mouche asked.

"Because the men at the top are greedy and take everything," Mrs Mouche replied as she left the house with her carry-on trolley bag, giving Wednesday and Mouche a kiss and making us promise to go to Trish's "unless Trey is here."

"See you later girls," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

"Love you Trey," Mrs Mouche yelled. She was all dressed up in a fancy suit and looked very glamorous. Trey came to the top of the stairs as Mrs Mouche deposited Wednesday in his arms. Mrs Mouche is a flight attendant, if you hadn't already guessed.

"Now be good for Trey," Mrs Mouche said. Mrs Mouche was flying all the way to New York and back. It would be the longest time she had ever spent away. Normally she just flew to the next state.

Wednesday smiled, she seemed to love being with her big brother, even though after her sleep we intended to play dress-ups with her as well. She clapped her hands as Mrs Mouche kissed her. Mouche's little sister loved it when Mouche and I and my mom (Trish) and Trey looked after her.

After Mrs Mouche left, we were examining the ideas in our pink diary for our new blog entry and Trey was checking out our laptop over Mouche's shoulder, having seated Wednesday in her high chair.

"Enough already", Mouche said. "You _so _can't see this, Trey. It's for our eyes only."

"Oh, please," Trey said laughing, eating a mouthful of cereal over his physics text, "like I care what two little girls think about the world...don't stay up too late," he said as he ran up the stairs.

"Why? Is your girlfriend coming over?" Mouche giggled.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I think asking her over at ten pm might be a little obvious."

Trey was a classy guy for an older man (eighteen).

"So what do you think about who should pay on dates, Trey? Do you think girls should pay?" I asked quizzically.

"Phoebe, if a guy likes you, He's going to try to impress you at least on the first date. Take my advice, let him offer, and if he doesn't, pay, but don't date him again."

Who knew that Trey could supply us with our advice for the month? Even Mouche was impressed.

Trey left the room but not without flicking the light switch on and off three times just to annoy us. He's very sweet sometimes, but I'd never tell Mouche that I'm crushing on her older brother. I happen to know she worships him but I think she'd find that information slightly disconcerting.

We looked back at our highlighted notes, our rules and ideas about dating, our slim experiences and profiles of the boys of Sunrise thus far.

Mouche glanced at me sceptically then looked at our prospective boyzamples and said, "Yes, no, yes, no, no way, yes..."

"But this should be a realistic guide to dating at Sunrise High and an expose of just how few guys are the total package."

"Package meaning?"

"Intelligence, kindness of heart, personality..."

"How about tall, dark and handsome like Mark Knightly," I ventured. "Although, when he came into class he seemed very arrogant and rude," I qualified my reckless remark, but Mouche was too quick.

"Oh my goodness!"

"What?"

"You like him. I can tell. I mean you _more_ than like him!"

It was hard to lie to Mouche.

"You're practically in love with him. Ew... you wanna have his babies!"

"Oh please, that is completely over the top. I have barely spoken to him! I so do not love him. Besides, He's totally an older man. Isn't he just repeating junior year for kicks? I mean, who has the time and money to be in Europe for a whole year. He seems like a total weirdo."

"It's true. You love him."

I relented, "me and everyone else at Sunrise."

"Not me. He seems really haughty."

"Perhaps it's just his manly exterior," I joked.

Mouche laughed, "What dating guide did you get _that_ expression from?

"Actually, it's in _Mrs Jones Gives Advice_." I glanced at the dating guide stacked amongst a few others on Mrs Mouche's coffee table, then continued, "It's just that he is kind of different but everybody likes him. It's like "cute boy" radar. Everyone always likes the cute boys. Still, He's hardly spoken to anyone since he transferred from Loratio and arrived back here."

"Mmm... well, he spoke to me."

"True."

I tried not to be jealous of this small but scintillating fact.

"To tell you the truth...I think his friend Jet is just as cute."

"Now, who likes who?"

"The difference is I can freely admit it."

"Well maybe that's because he clearly likes you and you have a huge chance."

"Oh my gosh, Phoebe, Mark would be an idiot not to fall head over heels in love with you. Sell yourself short and everyone else will be quick to agree. Just because our Daddies abandoned us doesn't mean every other man will. Listen, I heard Teegan and Freya are drawing straws to decide who should ask the newbies to the Fall Fling. Mmm... Straight guys don't usually like dancing, unless they're on drugs! I bet they don't even want to go. We should get in first."

"So true."

"Geez, we have to learn to treat 'em mean and keep 'em keen. It says so right here in _A Ladies Guide to Adultery._ Anyway, that's what my mom used to say...and she should know. Loads of men in aeroplanes hit on her. Perhaps we should cast our net wider than Sunrise High..." Mouche said.

"Or change the guys already there..." I added.

For example, Alex Miller, the only boy who properly dated a girl at our school for the entire month of May last year, had a reputation for being a true man-slut whose older girlfriend cut school with him just to go watch midday talk shows on cable every day and indulge in his desire for a meaningless fling.

"That's so deeply unromantic," Mouche said. "I'm so over man-sluts."

"Yeah, I agree. Alex is just nasty. Girls are so taken in by him because he's kind of hot-looking. Face it, romance has died and gone to heaven in our little satellite town."

"The boys at our school aren't really into dating at all. It's just hooking up. They'll line up all weekend to go to the opening of some bromance but when the time comes to woo women they show zero interest. I think teenage girls have been sold a lie for centuries with all this romance stuff."

Mouche argued on the side of Girl Rights: "Is there something in the water of this town? Has _hanging out_ replaced true romance? And have we, as pre-women, been lied to?"

Mouche had a point.

Observe the boys during sophomore year sitting in their packs at lunchtime; they're hanging out playing computer games, the most athletic of them running on the track team in a pack or playing basketball; and we don't dissuade them from that. Any smart teenage girl likes her man athletic as well as clever but (excepting Mark Knightly and Jet Campbell) the two don't often form the complete package. Of course, there were a few mathletes in the library and a group of optimistically titled _musicians_ creating noise pollution in the temporary classroom overlooking the playing fields, but women or teenage girls like us just didn't seem to figure in their worlds.

Mrs Mouche once told us, "men don't change and women always make the mistake of trying to change them." Perhaps she's right. Perhaps the pre-men we have in mind are more open to negotiation.

"You have to get them while they're young." Mrs Mouche told us.

"Get 'em while they still have muscle tone," Mouche joked. "Past eighteen is _seriously_ past it..."

Trey rolled his eyes.

"Could my sister be any more sexist?" Trey said proudly.

Although I've never been exactly boy-crazy, at sixteen, I was inclined to agree. Eighteen was plenty old enough for us and maybe even a little too old as I later discovered.

"We have to psyche ourselves up for Fall Fling..." Mouche said. "It's the perfect place to network and prepare for the social event of the year, junior prom."

We were determined not to be wallflowers for the ultimate social occasion; the school formal.

"Fall Fling is just for practice. It is hardly social suicide for besties to attend together. As the social monitors of the Sunrise Blog, we will be armed with cameras," Mouche said, "though it would be nice if we could take along Jet and Mark...just to make the Princesses jealous."

That night we finalized the rules for the Boy-Rating Diary:

**THE BOY-RATING DIARY **

This diary shall remain a secret. The object of the diary is for Phoebe Harris and Mouche Macintosh to create a dating manual that may be of use to future generations (and to have some serious fun in junior year).

The boys of Sunrise need to learn what our heroes of yesteryear knew – respect for women.

Therefore, a kiss is the culmination of the romance, not the beginning.

A date must consist of a beginning, middle and end and we have to practice a few dates for ourselves before we encourage other girls (i.e. the Princesses) to embrace our personal philosophy of self-respect.

Proof: there needs to be proof of the date in the form of photographs, gifts (to be gathered via a treasure hunt – gifts of red roses are not permissible since they can signify a bad end to a relationship).

Affording us some tradition, the boy needs to make an effort to impress the girl.

The ultimate love token comes in the form of a love letter. Whoever gets the most love letters and shares the best advice as well as the date of her dreams for junior prom (i.e.: Mark Knightly), wins the competition and gets to keep the gifts we gather during our dating journey.

All details must be shared in the old-fashioned form of a written diary; contributions to be made by both parties, with an overview and progress report due on the last Friday of every month.

Remember, knowledge is power.

The Dating Game shall remain a secret even if and when we decide to involve other people in our game.

It didn't occur to us that night, after we swam in Mouche's brightly-lit pool, with sparkles of water playing on our skin, that our plan would drive a wedge between us as friends. Our plan would highlight our competitive natures more than ever; a quality people don't normally seem to approve of in girls. For example, Mr Sparks, my drama teacher, once asked me rhetorically, _"Are you ambitious, Phoebe?"_

"Of course", I thought, but I was too shy to actually say it. He seemed to be inferring that being ambitious for your life is not okay if you are a girl. How wrong was he?


	5. The Love Drug Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5**_

_**The Love Drug **_

The first boy I saw on Monday, the second week of junior year, was Joel Goodman. Joel is dangerous and wild and I have it on good authority that he dated both Teegan and Tory at the same time. He managed to hook up with them at Sunrise Mall one afternoon last summer. Joel is known as the virgin-converter and has a network of older and more devious buddies and a slightly unkempt air about him. There is no denying he is good-looking but He's known to be a very bad person, not that I'm trying to moralize, it's just that people talk.

"Whoa, he gave you such a nice smile," Mouche said as Joel walked past. We were on our way to the auditorium.

"Please," I said, "He's monosyllabic and barely grunts in class. Besides, I could never date a man who didn't challenge me intellectually."

Peter Williamson, who was a math genius as well as a dancer, was a rare combination. He walked past us on the way to class.

"Looking fine, girls," he said as he rushed d to Algebra.

"Why is it all the best boys bat for the other team?" Mouche asked confidentially, although it was hardly a secret around here.

And it was good to know a boy with awesome fashion sense had noted we were looking our best.

We'd planned new outfits for every day of the month. Our make-overs, along with our dating strategy, were sure to elevate us to a whole new level of social acceptance. We walked down the hallway with a unique resolve, like we owned the place. We were dressed very sharply in our new skirts and sweaters. Even our shoes had extra shine.

After all, we'd had the previous weekend to prepare.

"We should definitely _start by wearing more appealing, feminine clothing_," Mouche had suggested after we'd finished d our Sunday night swim. We'd dragged some old dating and beauty guides back with us from the library that weekend and had raided our mothers" vast quantities of them. They had titles like _Sophia's Pathway to Beauty_ and _Ava Gardner's Guide to Gorgeousness. _There was also _Marilyn Monroe's Blonde Beauty Secrets _and basically the stories of all the great movie stars with beauty guides from the 1960s and beyond. (For example, did you know you can make your own lip balm with beeswax, rosewater and natural food coloring?)

I don't want to sound shallow but we decided to start from the outside and work to within. Until midnight, we practiced hairstyles and make-up. We even dressed up Wednesday. We made her look like a smurf and then she fell asleep. I don't mean to sound like a Princess but we really felt we deserved some fun after our daddies had dipped into our so-called college funds. We knew we'd be working every spare minute during future holidays just to have enough money to last even a week in New York. This didn't stop us imagining a future time, when, drenched in French perfume and looking like movie stars, we resided in our own luxury apartments overlooking Central Park. Man servants doted on us. Boyfriends wept at our non-exclusive schedules.

Reality checked in along with dawn.

We were wearing pink gloss and oatmeal face masks. The pasty oats were moistened with warm water and mixed with Vaseline so they didn't drop off in clumps into the pool. Wrapped up in bathrobes, heavy duty moisturiser smoothed over our elbows and heels (our "rough edges" according to _Sophia's Beauty p.29_), our feet dangled in the water making us seem like ladies of luxury.

"I have a need for speed and a strange feeling I'm going to win this bet..." Mouche said as she pulled her raisin feet out of the water.

I looked over at Mouche.

"Don't be so sure, Mouche, I'm totally going to give you a run for your money."

Mouche flicked some water at me.

"That's it," I said, "You're going under." Instead of feet sloshing around a pond the pair of us were engulfed in a tidal wave, our clothes soaked through.

"Hey, you pushed me first, I just pulled you under!" Mouche said.

We splashed about for a few minutes then stayed awake, texting plans, long after everyone thought we were sleeping.

The following day, Friday, was audition day.

As we filed into the auditorium and looked up at the proscenium arch, Miss Tartt and Mr Sparks waved to us then pointed in the direction of our seats.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say we almost look like the Princesses," I mused aloud...

"Except there are less of us and we have more taste." Mouche added. "I am so going to win this bet," she said, as if she'd solely invented the boy dating and rating competition in the first place.

_So you're going to win, huh? Not so quickly Mouche,_ I'd thought laughingly. The truth is we were _both_ looking sharp; our clothes were new, our hair extra shiny and our lip gloss sparkled. Boys were noticing us, especially Mark and Jet. We'd made a big effort as prescribed in our dating guides _ad nauseum. _

"It is such a shame we had to entice them with teen glam," Mouche conceded.

"It might be time to put away the old games of cards and tea leaves. We should rely on common sense and instinct," I said.

"Of course," Mouche agreed.

The entire student body endured the welcome speech. Due to scheduling difficulties, it was delivered by our Principal a week later than usual.

Mr Sparks, our drama teacher, appeared slightly dazed by the length and monotony of the address and could be seen dozing off during the speech. If Mr Sparks had been talking to the entire student body, he'd at least have added a light show, "_and maybe some disco..._" Freya sniggered in a sarcastic horse whisper.

Teegan, the Barbie, was the next person we bumped into that day and she said, "Hi," in a newly mature way. We said "hi" in return because it doesn't pay to let the enemy know exactly how the land lies. Mouche and I still resented her and her friends for taunting us when we were children and invading our new school to boot. She almost tripped over her own shoes running down the hallway barking, "Mark! Ma-ark!" as if she owned him already.

I hadn't seen Teegan this anxious to get someone's attention since she chased an assistant casting agent through our school car park to try to snare the lead in a teen angst afternoon special.

"Now observe her undignified display," Mouche noted, "desperate to try to get Mark's attention. Doesn't she realize, "_if she has to work that hard in the beginning she'll have to work like an Olympic athlete towards the end_?"

"Who told you that?"

"Oh, this great dating tome is called, _"How to Treat 'em Mean to Keep Them Keen..."_

"The only problem is they have to be keen in the first place..."

"So true."

Mark seemed pretty busy ignoring Teegan as he walked on by but when she finally fell at his feet and her notes scattered around him, instead of stepping over them like some sort of android, he stopped, picked Teegan up and gave her a sincere smile. What a gentleman.

"Clearly, her decorative exterior has won him over..."

"I just knew she'd be busy chasing Mark Knightly," Mouche said.

"You are so psychic, I can almost hear her thoughts, "I replied.

"True. You are so telepathic," Mouche added.

"She's just pretending to be nice. Why can't he see through her?" I mused.

"Absolutely," Mouche replied. "If only they'd learnt what we have...men have zero radar for feminine wiles..."

"I've noticed..." I stated succinctly.

"High school is an anthropological exercise at the best of times," Mouche replied.

The faces of Joel, Teegan, Mark, Peter and Ethan merged into the crowd as she spoke. Ethan was a pianist, the others have been introduced. Two Princesses and one listed male (Jet) were missing, but we knew they'd make an appearance sooner rather than later.

With morning classes over, I was sitting alone at lunch with the unfilled diary, wearing my Sunrise High oversized sweatshirt and my black cut off ballet tights (the black pair layered over the pink). I was busy plotting a course of action for the remainder of the day and waiting for Mouche to get out of class. Sitting at a lunch table, sipping fizzy water through a bendy straw with the sun peeping in through the long bay windows of the room was conducive to dreaming. I kept imagining the boys on my list and what they'd look like given a style make-over and some re-programming, when Mouche arrived early.

"I already have the order of dating in mind. There are quite a lot of them but I could only envisage having actual chemistry with one or two..."

"Good," I said, "me too, that will make things less complicated."

"It says here _men hate over-achievers_..." Mouche said as she carefully applied some lip balm from a tiny container.

"Mmm... we'll just have to re-educate the boys on that one."

"Here, I signed the contract in lipstick pencil. Want some?"

"I don't think that's legal."

"I added my signature in pen just in case..."

"Listen, I've been thinking," Mouche said. "Why don't we just...help each other in the beginning, see what we come up with, pool our dating resources in the so called "dating guide" then go for it for the last few dates. See how much useful treasure we can get from the first "dates" without them knowing they're just being used for information and teach the boys a thing or two in the process."

As we ate, we made notes. A few boys from the opposite table actually looked up. Like I said, Mouche had re-vamped her look (and so had I) but hers was obviously working particularly well in relation to Jet Campbell. Jet has a fabulously inoffensive smile. He is about the same height as Mark and as fair as Mark is dark-haired and seemingly a hundred times more amiable, completely unaware of the annoying idiosyncrasies of those around him. Freya is messing up Jet's hair and I can see him staring at her fake diamond necklace, sparkling in the lunch room light.

"It's sad that men are so attracted to artifice, but also very true according to the _Young Ladies Guide_ and my own limited experience," I told Mouche.

"Agreed," Mouche replied, highlighting a chapter titled, _"How to please your potential husband,_" written in 1963.

Have you ever felt like someone else has stolen your life? I was daydreaming after writing notes on Mark Knightly (_tall, British-like, uptight_) and I was imagining how divine it would be to star in a hipper, teen remake of _Pride and Prejudice_, we could just call it _Pride_...when Mouche interrupted my train of thought.

"Oh, by the way...I have to tell you about..."

"Planning time, don't interrupt." I waved my paper in her face.

Mouche ignored my request.

"Jet Campbell left me this cute little post-it note on my locker and... he _spoke_ to me again and...I think he might be _the one_."

"Are you joking? You can't just settle for one. You're starting to sound really unimaginative...like a Princess."

"I guess...I'm getting some lunch."

Tapping my pen on the table, lost in thought, I'm inadvertently drawing attention to myself. As I look away, I notice the very emo/gothic looking Jack Adams who actually smiles back at me. I happen to know he is working on another teenage horror film script because he sent me a group email over summer, asking me to write comments about the stupid plot he'd written. I didn't want to lie to him so I still haven't replied. I look away even though he definitely has potential. I don't want to encourage him just yet.

A few minutes later Mouche is on her way back to our table with today's least offensive lunch fare – macaroni cheese and a peanut butter sandwich, fries and two sodas.

"Okay, I also got us two apples...for our health."

"Thanks."

So we sat there, munching the apples, reading each other's diagrammatic plans.

"It says here," Mouche read, _"... the surest way to mess up a date is to be too focused on getting a boy to like you, so take the focus off the boy and create other objectives..."_

This is what Mouche wrote:

_**Items to be gathered for our New York Adventure:**_

_A pen_

_A lucky feather_

_A beret_

_Jeans - vintage (Mouche and I both wear the same size)_

_A black sweater (every girl should have one)_

_Coco perfume_

_The perfect shoes_

_A winter scarf_

_A golden bracelet (prefer eighteen carat)_

_A pair of Chanel sunglasses_

_A cashmere coat_

"I'm inspired...this will allow us to focus on our future journey. The list will give us "other objectives" for the dates so we won't be so focused on impressing the boys and thus end up embarrassing ourselves."

"Of course, and all these items will be useful in New York; they start with the most easily sourced and become a little more difficult to obtain..."

"Quick, twelve o'clock," Mouche whispered before I could say anything more on the subject.

I looked up instantly.

"It's Mark Knightly glancing at us from across the room. Don't stare. You're being very obvious," she whispered.

We could overhear Freya talking at the opposite table...

"_So, how did you find out he was rich?" _

"_Well, by the water fountain, on my way here..._"Brooke added.

"_By the water fountain_," Teegan repeated. _"That's starting to sound very romantic."_

"_Exactly. Anyway, I heard him talking about a rich uncle in Scotland who's planning to leave him a castle after he croaks..."_

"I wish _my _uncle would leave me a castle. Then we'd never have to worry about our college funds." Mouche said grimly.

"Never mind. We're going to be self-made women, Mouche. By the way, are they serious? I'm not sure if castles in Scotland are worth that much but maybe we should move him to the number one spot on our list...just in case," I joked and considered removing Jet's name (even though his family owned multiple companies – according to Teegan - and she googles everyone) with the stroke of a pen.

Mouche instantly picked up her pink pen and drew another line straight through Jet Campbell and wrote _Mark Knightly _over it and added a bunch of love hearts. Then she scrawled: _wildly rich -_ _major possibilities_.

"That's so twelve years old Mouche. I never knew you were such a gold digger."

Underneath Mark's name she made a space for his _advantages / disadvantages / physical attributes _columns. We haven't filled that out yet.

"Objectively speaking, money is just a bonus and I could never actually marry a man for that, even if my college fund is depleted." Mouche said.

"Who said anything about marrying? Perhaps we should wait until one of us has actually had a proper conversation with him first."

"You're right. I doubt marriage is even legal at our age."

"Oh great, one o'clock, Miss Tartt..." I whisper, hoping not to draw attention to myself.

"Hello girls. Did you have a good summer?"

"Yes Miss Tartt," I said. Mouche started to smile as I spoke.

Miss Tartt is a failed Broadway actress with shortish sticky-out red hair and the figure of a former dancer who's started to binge eat just a little too often. She doesn't like me, competition. She gives me looks that could kill roses. I don't think it's very professional to behave that way. Like, when we had try-outs for last year's fashion show, she made me re-audition about ten times and waited right until the end to call my name as part of the ensemble. And only a few dance majors were available.

"Hi Miss Tartt," one of the boys called out from across the room. Boys can be rude like that.

Miss Tartt should have ignored him, as etiquette might dictate but, never one to shrink like a violet, Miss Tartt actually said, "_hello boys,"_ in a very theatrical voice.

I'm so embarrassed for her. The guys certainly seemed to like it though. Obviously, she needs our future dating guide. We'll add advice for older women.

"Do you have an audition piece ready for try-outs, Mouche?"

"I didn't realize they were on today, Miss Tartt. I'm thinking of working behind the scenes."

"Oh. Well, they're 3pm sharp. See you both there. Oh, and Mouche?"

"Yes?"

"I'd just _love _it if you could help design the costumes again."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Mouche said, trying not to sound too enthusiastic.

After Miss Tartt left, Freya joined us and mocked Mouche.

"Oh, that would be _marvellous, Miss Tartt_... Ew... you two are such suck ups. That woman is totally skeezie – no wonder you're both her favorite students in the whole world...she's only nice because she wants you to do her dirty work..."

"Ah, I believe that is your _modus__ operandi_, Freya," Mouche said.

"You know, she's just a teacher who really wants to be an actor and keeps casting herself in the lead role – Tory's role," Freya replied.

"I think that might be _Phoebe's_ role you're confusing with Tory's role, Freya," Mouche said.

Mouche and Freya both had a point.

Freya huffed off and said, "Later girls," as if we were all friends.

Suddenly Mouche leaned in and stepped lightly on my toe under the table.

"Mark Knightly is walking back this way. See if you can convince him to talk..."

We put our notes away in a pink folder.

I was busy reading _How to Please Your Potential Husband._ Mouche had opened up _A Woman's Guide to Bringing out the Best in Her Man_ – _Part 1; The Approach._

"I'm so not ready for the _approach_. We've never even spoken," I added with hesitation.

"Well, I'm ready now – first cab off the rank and all that."

This could be like watching a train wreck in motion and I was nervous for Mouche. After all, she was just as inexperienced as me at proper dating and bound to make a fool of herself with an older, more mature man.

Freeze the image:

We were all alone in the cafeteria by then, since almost everyone else had left for study hall. Freya, Teegan, Brooke and Tory had drifted off. The chatter had quietened down and we hardly noticed Mark and Jet again, so immersed were we in reading our guidebooks and finalizing "The Plan."

My dating guide was open on a page titled;

_How to Attract Your Prey:_

_Always be neat_

_Wear a bright shade of lipstick _

_Use sweet smelling perfume_

_Always be interested in your man's conversation_

_Make sure your hair is soft and shiny so he can rub his hands in it_

_Make sure you wear attractive, feminine clothing; skirts and dresses are uniquely female..._

I'm wondering if this old-fashioned advice could get much worse. I quickly close the guide.

"It would be enough to make my mother retch," Mouche says, "She collects these guides as a joke."

Suddenly Mark is walking towards us.

"Our "man-friendly" looks are definitely getting us noticed..."

"Or is that our cousin's unfounded reputations?" Mouche whispers. "Boys think _the apple doesn't fall far from the tree _so we need to act remote."

"If he talks, you should talk," I replied.

"Just ignore him," Mouche says, as Mark walks straight past us on the way to study hall.

"Well, that conversation went smoothly," I said.

"Give him time, Pheebs. Guys are analytical and need extra moments to process attraction..."

I laughed as we walked to English but my expression changed to disappointed when I realized Mark and Jet had ditched the class.

"_As has been the case from time immemorial, while the boys ditched, the girls worked...the boys hunted...the girls gathered..." _

I was reading over my history notes in study hall after Mark and Jet had successfully managed to abscond. I saw them leave the car park via my study hall window, but nobody as yet recognized Jet's car and from a distance they looked like teachers...albeit very rich ones.

"Second week of school and they're already in trouble," Freya stated.

"I just love bad boys," Teegan replied.

After biology, which I'd slept through, history was cancelled but our classes were late so although I'd also tried to ditch along with Mouche, we got caught in the entrance hall (or exit hall in our case). The teachers are more than a little militant at the start of the semester, but luckily, they let us off with a warning.

"Sometimes I just can't wait for school to be over so I can start my real life," Brooke mused like a child.

"_Social skills are far more important than intelligence_; it says so right here." I whispered to Mouche in the library.

"I'm not so sure about that," our teacher said, eavesdropping.

"We need to network!" Mouche passed me a note attached to the diary. Page nine was open with all our gathered quotes from man-dating guides of yesteryear attached. The basis for the diary was gaining some real momentum.

"Honestly, if school is just like a microcosm of the real world, it's a wonder any of us survives it. At least in the real world you can hide from people you hate," I whispered just as Freya walked by, a little too close to my ballet slippers for comfort. Behind her, her twisted sisters trailed like ducks near a pond. They were caught leaving by the overly zealous teacher and had been herded up like cattle. Now they're all chewing gum in retaliation; so ninth grade.

Freya "accidentally" kicked over my bag as she entered the room.

"Oops, sorry," she said. Usually, she travels in a pack. It makes it a lot easier to disguise her evil intentions.


	6. Swim Team Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6**_

_**Swim team **_

"_Throughout history, women's moral behavior has always been highly scrutinized...males have had social freedoms women were seemingly unaware of...these freedoms were kept from women not just because of biology but because men invented the patriarchal rules..."_ I was glued to _A History of Suffrage _in the back seat of the bus as we embarked on our trip to the swimming centre.

"What does patriarchy mean?" I asked Mouche.

She instantly looked it up.

"It's like...society is male-dominated, so women have to fit in with rules they didn't create but then they help to maintain them...otherwise, I guess, society as we know it...would break down completely..."

"Oh," I sort of understood. It was like Mark and Jet escaping while we had to stay and be bored in study hall. Maybe they were just smarter, or quicker or something.

"And maybe they are just male...because according to your literature...being male might be enough to let you progress easily through life," Miss Tartt was way bitter and overheard us as we snapped the pages shut. She really wasn't ready to hear this stuff. She needed to focus on prettying up and being nice to other women in particular. Then people would take her seriously and she could study the history of feminism but still husband hunt.

"It's good to know the history of our sexual struggle," Mouche said, "but we so don't want to become like her..." Miss Tartt wandered off the bus after taking the roll. I was so glad she wasn't going to be coming along to pass judgement on my freestyle.

I'd also been relieved to wave Freya and Brooke goodbye at the bus stop but dismayed to learn that Mouche and I are two of only six girls on the swim team. Teegan and Tory are going with us because they are quite athletic and always compete with Mouche and me in everything. Brooke and Freya are waving us off, standing on the pavement. Brooke is wearing her latest crucifix because she has recently found religion and is working on her _"do unto others"_ motto. Proof of this is the magnanimous smile coloring her expression. She's also considering the benefit of "dressing more modestly", but worried she may not fit in with her junior sorority sisters.

Meanwhile, Teegan, Freya, and Tory have decided to dress entirely inappropriately for the morning. It's uncharacteristically cold and none of them have sweaters. Teegan occasionally pretends to be my friend, so I mock smile and try to be "friendly" in return. Freya, meanwhile, is trying hard to impress Mark who has barely looked at her. So sad. As Mrs Jones might have said, "_those girls need to play hard to get." _

Still, as I sat on the back seat of the bus watching the Princesses through the window, waving and pretending to be supportive of me, as they chat to each other, I have to admit I'm not sure even I have the restraint to act indifferently towards someone I like. I hold that thought as Teegan and Tory reach their seats.

Everyone is seated; the bus takes off and lurches forward as I'm leaning over my tote bag searching for my iPod. Gravity pushes s me into the back of the seat in front.

I steady myself. Mouche, seated next to me, smiles and whispers, "this should be fun, any excuse for extra-curricular activities with the boys and Princesses can barely contain their enthusiasm."

I nod in knowing agreement and flick through my playlist. Mouche is busy updating our future blog – the secret one of course, the one we carry in diary form. This one is for our eyes only. Mouche will update the official _Sunrise News Blog_ after the Fall Fling. We've decided to go with a traditional headline "Possible Prom Themes" then upload an article titled: _Prom Themes Throughout History_ with the by-line - _vapid possibilities from previous junior years -_ _Underwater World, Chicago 1930, Movie Star Couples _(the usual). No sense running with the lead story of two girls dating themselves into history until it's ready.

Mouche was going to quit the swim team to concentrate on her academic classes but I persuaded her to come with me. _"It is a known fact that ladies need strenuous exercise just as much as men..." _I told Mouche using Received Pronunciation_._

"Which guide did you get that from?"

"I don't know, I think I heard the sentiments in _Little Women_."

"Oh, I love that story."

"Me too."

There aren't very many people who swim and as luck would have it, Mark and Jet and Alex and Tom are riding the bus as well.

"I've often noted that swimming tends to do beautiful things to shoulders. You can see the results in the broad arm muscles of the boy sitting in front of me, his face slightly obscured by the headrest of the seat," I whispered to Mouche.

Of course, I'm describing Mark.

When he turns his head Mouche stifles a giggle as I unwrap some gum, offer her some and innocently observe the world outside the bus windows.

"He's very uptight," Mouche scrawled on the side of her note page, shoving it in front of me.

"He still hasn't spoken to me but earlier today, he offered to help me lift my bag when the locker door was stuck," I said softly.

"Chivalry is so not over yet," Mouche added, "Oh, fabulous, Tom Allen just glanced my way. Guess what? Teegan and Tory have decided to flirt with all the boys on our behalf. Don't they realize none of us are ready for _the approach_ since we've barely had time to read the copious quantities of old-fashioned dating literature we found in the closets of our slummy mommies?"

"I loved it when you used to jokingly answer the telephone with those immortal words, _Hello this is Mrs Mouche's brothel…"_

"I was only twelve…"

"Our mothers weren't quite as fond of the introduction as I recall..."

The bus had stopped at a red light by this time. Suddenly Teegan crawled out of her seat and made her way to the back of the vehicle.

"Hi Pheebs," Teegan said as if she was my best friend.

I smiled tepidly. Mouche had her ears blocked with music.

"Hi Mark," Teegan continued. "I can't wait for you to pick us up Saturday tonight."

Mark looked over at Jet as if Teegan had gone nuts, and then gave her a reluctant smile. Both Teegan and Tory smiled back and I was embarrassed for everyone and pretended to be writing, but the road ahead was bumpy so after a few minutes I stopped.

"I forgot to tell you, Freya and Brooke are Jet's neighbors. They've been 'noticing' him for years and Freya even spread a vicious rumor that she has webcam images of Jet doing it with an ex!" I whispered.

"So possibly illegal, to spread publicity unasked, but Brooke doesn't care. She thinks she's above the law. No doubt the footage is inspired because Jet is very sporty and buff. I'm not sure if Teegan and Tory realize just how popular Jet could become," Mouche added with a smile.

"He's good natured, too," I whispered after Jet had helped Mouche with her jacket and bags. "It seems like nothing is a trouble to him."

"Brooke and Freya act like eager fans when Jet is around. Although they are as obsessed with Mark as everyone else, he has blatantly ignored them and even the Princesses get a little hurt when boys like him look down on girls like them." Mouche said.

"They treat Jet with the reverence of a fan base and look up to him. Brooke was once overheard in the cafeteria saying, "of course we're lucky to be his neighbors but we could be totally torn apart if it came to fighting over Jet."

Thankfully, Mark and Jet had their earplugs safely in their ears by this point.

"Girls like the Princesses learn to be nice to boys at a young age. Perhaps their mothers teach them," Mouche whispered, "Brooke and Freya have loads of money and their walk-in closets are twice the size of Teegan's and Tory's who make up for this slight disadvantage with extra stylish ensembles."

The two other Princesses had waved us goodbye from the pavement wearing today's furry back pack slung over their shoulders. They were wearing their matching boots and jeans. Even Mark looked twice. I made a note of this in our diary under the heading: _what to wear / dressing to impress._

Now, you might think we're being uncharitable towards the Princesses since it's obvious they are trying to make an effort but you don't share the history. Perhaps it's time I shared a bit of it as we head to the swim centre about twenty minutes from school.

Once, when we were in first grade at the Los Angeles School for Young Ladies, Teegan tried to make us pick her lunch up off the floor. She just dropped her grilled cheese and chilli fries all over our shoes. Splat. Then her twin sister, Tory, laughed and said, "Pick it up and eat it. All of it."

Then, it was our turn to laugh.

"As if," Mouche said. Instead, we kicked those fries right back at her and ran in the opposite direction.

These war-like incidents happened between us all the way through grade-school.

In the beginning, we might have been friends. As we got older, we all aced fashion and theatre design but then Teegan hired a designer to do the costumes for our lame sixth grade musical and made sure Mouche and I wore the most hideous ones. Freya and Mouche had a fight over whose mommy was prettier and everyone started being catty with each other after that.

As girls, we weren't really taught to support each other, just to compete with each other, which is _so _wrong if you ask me. Anyway, the Princesses were much better at ganging up than Mouche and I. Once they all conspired to get us into trouble for something we didn't do (like writing horrible notes about our super-strict history teacher), we were defenceless against their conspiracies. For a start, it was always their word against ours. In the end, there were more of them; and sisters usually side with each other. Go figure. At least I had Mouche. And she had me. 

The bus slowed and pulled over. Mouche, who doesn't get car sick, is busy studying boyzamples. She hastily shuts down the images on her cell. We bunch up our belongings and grab our bags. This time, Mark hands me mine and our fingers touch. It's kind of uncomfortable but, in a good way. Mouche sees my blush and starts to giggle as we head to the pool.

"Alright everyone, you have three minutes in the changing rooms. Then I want you all out here and ready to go by 9.30am."

Mr Frames was raising his voice. He has brown, curly hair, glasses and a nice smile. Although he teaches music, he doubles as a swim coach and is one of the best teachers at Sunrise.

Teegan was adjusting her goggles and talking to me in the bleachers as the boys lined up for the one hundred metres.

"Take a look at Mark. He really grew up in England."

I was stuffing my hair into the required bathing cap and trying to find my goggles as Mouche rolled her eyes and began the search for her missing ear plug.

We could hear Tory rating all the boys as they stood on the blocks: "nine, eight, six, eight and a half, three, ten and ten."

The last two were Jet and Mark. The one who got three, well, he wasn't exactly athletic. Teegan and Freya started smirking when Mark adjusted himself.

Mouche and I nearly walked into Mark and Jet as we hurried back to the bus a few hours later, but Mark just said, "excuse me," quite dismissively and walked past me without saying anything else. Jet paused and smiled at Mouche and I noticed she smiled back, but now Jet seemed hesitant to actually say anything. Boys are complicated.

That evening, after my mom and I finished d our late night shopping at the market on Main Street, Mouche met me and together we tried on dresses for the dance. Mouche whispered into a changing room mirror as we swapped make-up, "I've been reading loads of classic dating guides, such as _Deal With It - He Doesn't Want to Date You_ and _The Unspoken Laws of Romance_ but I think we're embracing unknown territory, our own _Dating Adventure for Teenage Girls."_

"Because we're such experts..." I added sarcastically.

"True," Mouche replied, "but I'm sure we can teach while we learn – look at Mr Frames."

Mr Frames was our student teacher last year and we leaned into the store window to watch him and his new fiancée walking across the road hand in hand. We'd conspired to let Mr Frames know how much our other student teacher, Miss Love, liked him. Now they're both fully registered teachers and we've received invites to their wedding this winter. We are obviously very good matchmakers for other people – why not each other? Why not all the girls in school? The whole town? The universe even?

"But what is the point of all of this, when, what we really need, is some money for our college funds?" Mouche said. "You're starting to take this whole _Emma_ fixation a little too far. Forget about school plays and dating new boys, I'm starting to worry I may not get my college scholarship."

"Of course you will Mouche. You're one of the smartest girls I know. Besides, money isn't everything..."

"I just have this feeling," Mouche said.

"What?"

"That we're going to be seriously side-tracked..."

"Well, maybe that's a good thing, because sometimes the real world lacks excitement..."

"Really Pheebs, you are my best friend, but I'm not so sure..."

I smiled and pulled out the copy of _Wuthering Heights_ that I was being forced to re-read and review for an English assignment. I'd just finished d skimming _Emma_, another Austen story, but Mouche had preferred the movie version. "Life's kind of like that now," she had said one afternoon when we watched it, "except faster and with more sex and swearing."

We sat in the Sunrise cafe and viewed the world going past our window booth, each of us adding to the _Boy Rating Diary_ as we waited for our food.

Joel Goodman worked in the diner. He was kind of hot but monosyllabic. I should know. I tutored him in English once a month and in return he helped to fulfil my credit quota. He'd been brought up speaking English as a second language and although he spoke almost without an accent, he sometimes wrote the words around the wrong way.

"Hey," he said as he took our orders wearing all black and his usual wife-beater shirt, "the usual?"

"Yes please," said Mouche, who was unfailingly polite in public. Joel smiled at her then me, in turn. I looked away, because Joel was a huge flirt.

"You know how long we'll need to work Saturdays just to get enough money for even a year in New York?" Mouche asked.

"Do not fear...I have a feeling everything will come together in the end. It always does and money worries are no reason to change our plans..."

We expanded our ideas on napkins after eating the special burger deal, watching the Sunrise world go by. Most of the people we saw through the window we knew or had met at least once. That was one of the things I liked about Sunrise, though Mouche and I mostly wanted to get out. Maybe she wanted out even more than I did.

Later that evening we continued to plot.

Mouche dropped her purchases next door at her house, and then came over.

I was sitting on the porch eating ice-cream having my musical theatre star fantasy and waiting for my agent to call.

Oh, that's something else I haven't told you much about yet. I've been acting, or rather auditioning professionally, part-time, since I turned twelve. I try not to spread this about as I was teased mercilessly at HSYL. I got to do a commercial a few years ago for breakfast cereal but since then the money has kind of dried up. It's so weird how I can be outgoing when I'm pretending to be someone else, although lately, I'm starting to fear stage-fright. I have to really psyche myself up to perform. But I'll get over that. All the best actresses do.

My agent, Thom, says I need to wait until I've made the transition from "child to woman," which would be a bit creepy if Thom were even vaguely interested in females for anything apart from "art or fashion." Although Mouche liked dance and drama, she never seriously considered the artistic world in her career prospects.

But when I looked up that evening, I suddenly noticed a possible usurper for my junior year glory. Mouche was framed by the moonlight and actually looked much more like a star in repose than I did.

Mouche was so pretty. I believe Mrs Jones may have referred to her as "_breathtaking."_

Have you ever felt like someone else has stolen your life? Well, Mouche is so perfect and so perfectly nice that you'd almost give her your life if she asked, but then you'd totally regret it.

The thing was, Mouche could steal your life or the hottest guy in school, if she was so inclined. She was much prettier, if you ask me, than even the Princesses; although I'm fairly sure she never thought it. Mouche had _Alice in Wonderland_ hair and cool jeans and perfect boots and was wearing bright pink, frosty lipstick. And she was smart.

I forgot about the slight pang of envy I felt as we were trying on our Fall Fling dresses again and deciding what shoes and accessories to take. As we stood in front of the full length bedroom mirror, I knew it was wrong to be jealous or envious of your best friend forever, but it didn't feel wrong at the time.


	7. Scandal Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7**_

**Scandal**

Mouche had us sorted. She'd read the entire contents of _Dating Yourself into Oblivion _and used her instincts to "encourage" Jet to consider coming to the Fall Fling.

As social monitors of the year, we were totally prepared to attend, cameras in tow, by ourselves: but arm candy always made the other girls jealous. And who could resist that? Mouche left an old-fashioned note in Jet's locker, waiting for Jet to take the bait. When she pulled into my driveway that morning looking very excited, I thought he'd maybe replied.

"Not so much, turns out I might have been a bit previous with the note, I've been up half the night doing extra research. I think I should've made the pursuit more of a challenge for him...meanwhile..." Mouche thrust a handful of highlighted pages in my face.

"Guess what I've come up with..."

It turned out Mouche had refined and highlighted the next entry of the _Boy-Rating Diary_ with a specific list:

**THE BOYS OF SUNRISE HIGH **

**Mark Knightly**

_Transfer student from Loratio and England, seriously hot, very dark and broody_

**Jet Campbell**

_Also a transfer student, just as hot; recently obtained his pilot's licence. There really doesn't seem to be a downside to this man... _

**Joel Goodman**

_Dangerous, brutish, charming_

**Jack Adams**

_Film school tragic; owns and runs the film club every Friday lunch time_

**Tom Allen**

_Wants to be a stockbroker, possibly more interested in money than dating_

**Josh Klein**

_Art major, sci-fi fan _

**Peter Williamson**

_Musical theatre star (a real challenge for a date), honors student _

**Adam Feldman**

_Academic genius, slightly stooped from being bent over his microscope, doubt he has ever spoken to a female, interested in insects. _

**Alex Miller**

_Dubious moral values, rumored to run a school gambling racket_

**Ethan Mandel**

_Future concert pianist, always dragged into composing the school musical_

**Tobias Olson**

_Xbox fan, martial arts expert, quite the rebel, caught in freshman year smoking who knew what and suspended from school for a week._

**Scott Riley**

_Boy next door (literally lives across the road)_

While Mouche was parking, I executed a few ballet twirls and a high kick up the steps before I leapt and landed on my feet near the fence. This isn't so unusual in our school, and besides, no one was looking. Oh, except Mark. My face went red as I hastily looked away.

"How deeply embarrassing," Mouche said.

"Why? I've got to warm up for class," I covered, as if I wasn't the least embarrassed.

"Wow. You're becoming more like _Buffy_ every day," Mouche said.

"What a shame that series was cancelled. I'd have auditioned for a role and we wouldn't have had to go to school at all. You could've been my assistant."

"Thanks, I'm sure that would be a rewarding job, Phoebe. Face it, we should've fleeced our father's bank accounts and emigrated to New York years ago. We could've attended the Professional Children's School thus avoiding HSYL altogether."

"Those days are over, Mouche."

"Thanks for the memories."

Our time at HSYL had been very harsh, if you haven't gathered that already. Mrs Mouche had dated the school guidance counsellor and a scandal had erupted when their relationship resulted in the birth of a child – Mouche's half-sister, Wednesday. As it turned out, Wednesday's Dad was actually Mr _Married _Guidance Counsellorfrom nine streets away. Mouche was understandably keen to vacate this town, maybe even this state, permanently. (Of course, Mr Married Guidance Counsellor had never told Mrs Mouche that he was attached and since we'd never needed his guidance, we didn't know, but it was all a mini social nightmare in our street and everyone was treating Mrs Mouche like the town _bike)._

Mouche and I had felt more like lepers in the Gothic halls of HSYL that month after the scandal broke. Between trawling through academic work and being taunted by the Princesses chanting, _"Sluttie mommies, sluttie mommies, you both have sluttie mommies..."_ You can imagine the rest. It was all caused by Mrs Mouche's scandal and the fact that my mother totally stood by her (that's what friends are for). And of course, I stood by Mouche, just as she had always stood by me. People saw us as the offspring of our morally dubious, adulterous mommies. Although, as Mrs Mouche said, "I wasn't knowingly committing adultery since he _lied _to me – _he _was the jerk!"

I'm sure that's why, after playing the good girl cards, we decided to go for it and turn the _Boy-Rating Diary_ into a real challenge. We'd learned a lot about being social pariahs at HSYL and placed our competitive natures aside to learn what it took and how important it was to have a loyal friend.

"You only need one," my mother once said, "as long as it's a good one."

Or was that husbands?

"I totally love my mom but I just can't believe she did it with him," Mouche admitted,

"You'd think she could've used contraception... but then we wouldn't have Wednesday, who is seriously cute."

"It says here, "_the "accidental" conception is rare past thirty_..._men are terrified of needy, baby-hungry, gold diggers desperate to secure them for their net value and sperm..._"

"Ew... once again... disgusting. Besides, "_men need to re-learn to be grateful...they require direction in the art of seduction...like in the old days...make them thankful that women even want to sleep with them..."_

"_Gold diggers? Nothing in return?_ Who's the gold digger? Who asks for nothing in return?" Teegan's ears pricked up when we walked by her. She gave us a piercing stare. Teegan was a virtual conduit for any form of relationship gossip. Of course, this particular gem came from _Miss Suzy's Bunny Girl Secrets _but I wasn't ready to share them with my nemesis just yet.

Singing had been re-scheduled and replaced with English class because our teacher was in the auditorium with Mr Sparks, preparing the audition roster for _Rocco and Julie_. Before class started, the rain was tapping on my window. It never rained in Sunrise and Mark was late. I was pending his arrival like an ingénue awaiting her first Oscar but he didn't appear and I was more disappointed than I'd let show. Finally, ten minutes after the lesson started, he showed up, late, which raised eyebrows but since he was the only person in the class (apart from me) who'd read the prescribed text (_Wuthering Heights_), the teacher was willing to forgive him once she 'd read his notes. She seemed exceedingly pleased to have been graced by his mere presence. We were working on a modern re-write of the dialogue from the famous scene when Cathy tells Nelly it would degrade her to marry Heathcliff as Mark walked down the aisle towards the vacant seat next to me.

Teegan immediately staked her claim. She planted her dainty, black tap shoe firmly at his feet to prevent him going any further.

"Oh, hi Mark," she said, "I just love your jacket. Did you get it at French Connection UK? My cousin used to work at the store on Kings Road..."

He gave me an apologetic smile and then sat where he was bade.

I was a little annoyed that my Franco hadn't fought for me, but since we hadn't properly conversed there was little I could do, except wait longingly and plan.

At lunch I was tapping my toe under the table, humming the last bars of a piece I was learning on keyboard for music class when someone touched me on the shoulder and all I could see was a mouth move. Then I took out my ear plugs, turned off my play list and heard a voice. It was quite deep and mature and male. The voice unmistakeably belonged to Mark Knightly.

"You're on the swim team, aren't you? I saw you race yesterday. You won. You were good."

"Oh, thanks..." I said, kind of lost for the right reply.

Mark had already won points for making the first move, which is very important.

Now, one of the first steps in my reference guide (which Mouche decided was mostly out-dated, but nevertheless quaint) detailed how to _appear nice, yet unobtainable._

I didn't think this would really work but when Mark said _hello_ after English class earlier that morning, I tried it. I didn't actually speak, I just smiled back shyly but when he kept walking, I thought I'd really blown it.

But here he was trying to get my attention again in the last minutes of the lunch hour.

"Well, um...I guess I'll see you at the auditions..."

"Yeah, the play is compulsory," I said dumbly. Mouche cringed.

"But aren't you and your friend PA students?

"Yeah..."

"Cos I saw you both...dancing around this morning. So you must like...artistic stuff, right?"

I nodded and smiled like a total dork.

Silence sat uncomfortably between us.

"...see ya, Phoebe," he said and walked off.

I looked at Mouche and flushed, "Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"He said my name!"

"Oh, please, c'mon, we gotta go..."

We ran down the corridor to the school auditorium.

All the serious PA students were warming up at the bar and a few people were hanging out backstage, going over scenes for _Rocco and Julie._

When try outs were about to start and we were waiting in our seats, Teegan said to me, "so, did you manage to get your hooks into Mark?"

"Not exactly," I replied.

"Why not? I saw him talk to you at lunch. He's definitely open to it. I'm sure he'd date you, even just for one night."

I ignored her insinuation that I wouldn't be worth dating more than once.

"That's not true," Freya said with the phony compassion she was renowned for. "He's definitely into me," she smiled patronizingly. "But you never know if you wait your turn, once I've discarded him..."

I walked over to Mouche.

"Never mind," Mouche said. "It's payback time."

Mouche and I huddled together in our tights and oversized sweaters and ballet shoes. I have had loads of pairs of those pink shoes over the years and so has Mouche. But Mouche is not sentimental. I am. I have all my shoes displayed along the walls of my bedroom, along with the programs of every play I ever attended, when my mother and I went to New York. We saw every show on Broadway, using Daddy's credit card before he had it blocked off.

"Here. So, you get to write up today's entry, should be interesting." Mouche whispered, placing the pink diary in my tote.

"I've decided we take it turnabout; you get this week – then, in the end, we combine the knowledge of everything we have learned from the first ten dates."

"You're hopeful. I kind of messed up at lunch. So I think we can safely say we will be attending _Fall Fling_ alone."

"Give it a few days. Teegan is a piece of work. If Mark has any brains he'll work that out; meanwhile we need to re-focus. I think these old guides are really good. If nothing else, they might show us what not to do. Are you ready?"

"Yep," I say, "I'm a bit nervous."

"Don't be, you're fab. I'm so excited. I love auditions when I'm not doing them. You're going to be amazing."

Mouche could be humble like that. She really is an excellent performer when she deigns to grace the stage. I guess she just finds more joy in being behind the scenes these days, and for this production, she will get full credit for design and choreography as well.

The strobe lighting was being tested as together we sat in the auditorium in the semi-dark, our new bags on the empty chairs beside us, a picture of a fake universe on the roof making the theatre appear like a wondrous planetarium. Our favorite teachers, Mr Frames and Miss Love were busy organizing the order of auditionees.

Mr Frames said, "oops, wrong show" into the microphone when he mixed up Mr Sparks" directions and generally acted uncoordinated in front of Miss Love. Then he finally projected the right slides for the background: modern day images, Los Angeles streets, a mock version of Marina Del Rey, The Grove and Santa Monica Pier.

"How does it look people?" Mr Sparks asked via microphone.

"Awesome," some wish-to-be called out sarcastically.

As we turned our heads, we overheard Freya discussing possible junior prom themes with Jet Campbell.

"I changed the theme because we need a couple of boys on the dance committee. We're not sure whether to do an inspired Bond theme or ..." Tory, meanwhile, looked intently at Jet but he seemed to be bored with her attention and lit up when he saw Mouche.

"Mmm," Jet said, looking in the direction of Mouche and me. He even took a step back when Teegan tried to paw his arm. Perhaps he had better taste than I imagined.

The soccer team, led by Alex and Tom, arrived and sat behind us. They began talking very loudly about how they were only here because Mr Sparks (they said his name in mocking high tones) had promised them extra credit and time off to do what really matters – play soccer.

We felt slightly outnumbered but refused to be intimidated. Watching straight men audition is not pretty. The director, Mr Sparks, was preparing his opening speech (always a classic) and testing the microphone with a little tap of his fingers.

Ethan Mandel was rather begrudgingly warming up his fingers on the piano (I have to admit I love to hear him play). He was practicing his "incidental theme" composition and Mouche and I were whispering about the content of today's notes.

"Mmm... this really is a nice shot," Mouche whispered, pasting the first photograph of Mark Knightly, taken on her cell phone, into the initial pages of the Diary, along with the one of Mark and Jet arriving at LAX and a combined photograph of the _Sunrise Soccer Team . _Teegan looked over as if she sensed something was up and not just a change of hairstyle.

"I hope this isn't stalking. This could be misconstrued as evidence at some kind of teenage stalker of the year convention. You don't think it could fall into the wrong hands and make us seem more viperous than the Princesses, do you?

"No, it's not for public consumption, yet. Anyway, leave it to Teegan; her nasty side is going to be revealed without too much help from us..."

By late afternoon, Mr Sparks was getting more and more frustrated. Most of the boys refused to take "the process" seriously. Only one of them could really sing, dance and act; Peter Williamson, no surprise there.

"I wish we were doing a musical," Peter said, rolling his eyes as he sat down next to Mouche, his scene study partner.

"Me too," Mouche agreed tolerantly.

By now Ethan Mandel, was secretly swigging some suspicious liquid out of a flask he brought from home which he referred to as "cough syrup." In any case, his playing just got better and better, to the point where he didn't want to stop even when everyone was talking. Rumor abounded by 6pm that the silver "flask" contained absinthe (wildly popular in Paris at the turn of last century for containing hallucinogenic properties).

By 6pm the preliminary list of names was read aloud: the last two boys and the last two girls standing; "okay, now can we have Phoebe, Freya, Peter and ...Tobias..."

Miss Tartt spoke the words with a flick of her dancer's skirt, "the parts would be finalized and placed on the bulletin board next week."

"I have an announcement to make," Mr Sparks said, "...this will be my last play here. As some of you know, I recently completed my PHD in Elizabethan studies...yes, you may applaud."

A few of the drama geeks clapped tepidly.

"Thank you...really that's not necessary. Anyway, I've accepted a post at the Royal Academy next year, so let's make this production the best ever."

Everyone groaned. The jocks because they knew they had an easy option and the drama students because we were used to Mr Spark's bizarre theatrical ways and would really miss his enthusiasm.

Mouche rolled her eyes next to me and whispered, "Go get 'em!"

It was my turn for a recall even though I wasn't certain which part I was up for.

"I don't want you to impose character just yet," Mr Sparks spoke loudly to justify the fact that he was still in the process of stealing our teen dramas in order to complete his "original masterpiece...a comic and heartbreaking journey through teen world titled: _Rocco and Julie – a tragedy in three acts!" _

When the boys came back to the raked seats and Jet and his group sat behind me, Alex pulled my ponytail like a twelve year old.

"I'm surprised you didn't try to snap her bra-strap as well, you moron," Teegan, sitting beside me, said loudly. It was suddenly an unlikely alliance, almost sisterly. Teegan seemed to be coming over to our side. I gave her a hesitant smile and she gave me a truce smile in return. I'm kind of glad Mouche didn't see me do that, though. I caught Teegan peering over my shoulder to see what I was writing and I snapped the pages shut.

Alex had wrecked my concentration, I began reading over the part of Julie in my seat, waiting for Mr Sparks to say, "_thank you, Freya. Phoebe, you may begin..."_ and noticing Jet notice Mouche as she discussed dance moves with the teacher-choreographer for the first scene.

When Mouche sat down in the stands, as I was heading onstage for my audition, she suddenly whooped and hollered like a one woman fan club, breaking the dating rules and not caring what anyone else thought. By then, Mark was sitting quietly in the corner. He looked unimpressed about the possibility of being roped into the roles of stage manager and understudy.

As I glanced at my script, I have to tell you, although it was based on the original, it was quite different; from scene one, it wasn't quite what everyone expected. Mr Spark's version of _Romeo and Juliet_ starts at a dance, in a school gym, with starlight for a rooftop...

From Act I: **ROCCO AND JULIE**

_Music plays. ROCCO holds out his hand to Julie at the party where they first meet. Julie is dressed in high fashion, Rocco wears street._

**NARRATOR**

Our tale of two star crossed lovers begins with two families...both from opposite ends of Los Angeles. Rocco lives in a trailer park and Julie resides in Bel Air. Rocco and Julie see each other across the dance floor, Rocco's best friend Tyrone is with him.

**TYRONE**

I'm out of here

**ROCCO**

I'm staying to meet the girl of my dreams.

_Julie is serving herself some fruit punch._

**JULIE (overhears)**

Really, you shouldn't reveal so much before we've even met.

**ROCCO**

I'm Rocco

**JULIE**

I'm Julie

_Rocco takes Julie by the hand._

**ROCCO**

Palm to palm and lips to lips...

**JULIE**

Not so fast...Rocco. We've totally just met.

**ROCCO**

Then take my hand.

_Julie takes his hand_

And feel my heart

_Julie feels his heart_

And hear it beat for you

_They kiss._

Okay, so we stopped the audition before the kiss.

Afterwards, when I was hanging around backstage, pulling on my jeans over my dancer's tights, Mouche hastily scribbled on page three of her entry in the dating diary:

_Auditions today! _

_Something weird is happening. Phoebe is a star and boys are noticing us._ _It must be the "Guide for Young Ladies" advice in chapter 2 – "feign disinterest"- that's working, because Phoebe and I have been "feigning disinterest" all week...and MARK KNIGHTLY and JET CAMPBELL have already spoken to us. _

_PS. Jet Campbell just handed me a note. It said: __**Wanna go to Fall Fling together? Jet **__He left his number. Does that mean I'm supposed to text him? Does that even count as a love letter? Mouche _


	8. Teenage Aliens Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8 **_

_**Teenage Aliens **_

"Definitely, definitely do not text him first. _He has to make the effort and text you._ It says so here, in...I believe this one's called, _The Rules of Young Adult Romance," _I advised_._

We were sitting on banana lounges in the water, swerving Wednesday around in her tyre, trying to explain to her the things about dating no one ever taught us.

"Of course you have to actually get a date," Mouche added helpfully, straightening Wednesday's sunglasses.

That's when I got a text that changed my day and interrupted the boy-rating diaries and our potential date-planning for at least a few hours.

"Gotta move it Mouche – get off the couch potato zone and _bring it_...forget about school plays, I'm going professional."

It was Thom, my theatrical agent. He used to run an agency called _Thom's Kidz_ but now It's just called _Thomz Starz_ since all his "kids" are mostly teenagers (except Wednesday).

"You mean?

"You betcha..."

And in the space of an hour I'm preparing to ace my third professional audition. This time it's a recall (which means instead of a thousand other teenage girls it's between me and twenty others) for a part in the low-budget film, _Teen Alien_.

So I'm pulling on my best skinny jeans and painting on tooth whitener for the recall for a teen horror flick. Mouche is helping me find a suitable outfit.

I am pretty excited. I've forgotten all about Mark and the Princesses and school play auditions. Instead, I'm all fired up about driving into LA with Mouche. This will be the first time we drive to an audition without a chaperone. And I'm not excited just because I think I might get the part, or because going to Century City will be an excuse to gaze longingly at the surrounding movie studios, or even because I get to play someone else outside my comfort zone. No, I'm excited because I'm definitely on course for implementing the first of our dating strategies – meeting up with an older man (an eighteen-year-old called Matt). We used to take drama class together on Saturdays. I heard he is interning as assistant to the director on this film. He was a PA student at Sunrise High a few years ago. Now he goes to UCLA.

Mouche has offered to drive me to the Alien movie recall and do some window shopping before meeting me for lunch at Century City. "What are best friends for?" she'd asked. "Besides, it all goes in the diary..."

Wednesday and Mrs Mouche were sleeping in. Wednesday was curled up at the foot of Mrs Mouche's bed as her older daughter tiptoed out of the house that morning. They made a pretty picture.

I had stayed over but we hadn't had much sleep because we were both extremely excited. Thom had tried to get Mouche to audition as well, but as she explained to him, "I'm sorry, no can do. I have decided to concentrate on school. Acting is not my forte anymore, Thom. I want to get my scholarship to NYU. Besides, I think I prefer real life."

Perhaps Mouche had a point and it certainly helps to have a supportive friend, not just a competitive one. I'm not sure if the desire for the good fortune of a friend can outweigh envy, but I'm working on it. I'd almost forgotten about Mark Knightly and his hotness when Jet texted just before we left for Century City: **Mark is coming 2. Text address pick u both up 8pm next Saturday night. Jet. PS. Are you going to be in Santa Monica this afternoon? Wanna hook up with us?**

"How exciting," I said.

"Mmm...it says in _Mrs Jones" Guide_ that, "_a boy should always make specific plans not vague notions about what he wants to do with you, and where he wants to take you..."_ Mouche replied.

"Even so, I can hardly breathe. Do you think this means they like us?"

"Of course. But I think they could have been more specific..."

"Well maybe they need direction..."

"_Never make it easy for them_...Mrs Jones p.29"

"Can you quit it with the Mrs Jones stuff for now? You should text them back and make plans for us. I can hardly think straight."

"That...is not cool. They can text us when they've thought of something. I don't want to just hang out and let them think we are available anytime they suggest. Now, focus on your audition and let me do the planning..." Mouche said. "Pretend I'm your stage mom," she added.

"Okay. Besides, it's not as if it's _really_ my date, since Jet only _officially_ asked you. I'm there as a social photographer and Mark, well, who knows why he's coming since he's scarcely bothered to speak to anyone at school all week. But I'm sure we could make time to see them this afternoon..."

"Okay, I will encourage them to suggest a proper date. Swimming might be good."

"That'd be... fun."

"You know, Mark did at least speak to both of us at school this week but who knows, maybe He's gay for Jet?"

Mouche started laughing; she has a distorted view of relationships these days.

"I'm just kidding. He's _so _obviously straight. He could barely read the lines for Rocco when Mr Sparks made him stand in for Peter. He's so clearly not artistic."

We had arrived early for the movie recall and driven to Venice Beach to watch the waves lap onto the sand. Our families had visited this beachside suburb often when we were little and we had fond memories of it.

"Just to change the subject, I totally want to buy a house here, overlooking the ocean, when I'm famous," I mused.

"Definitely. We can live next door to each other. I'll be your manager and do all your legals, and when you're past it we can represent Wednesday and live off the proceeds."

"I'm thinking we should get started on that one. She's very precocious already..."

Mouche laughed and said, "I'm just kidding..."

"Well, if I don't get this recall, I'm going to concentrate on school and our treasure hunt and saving for New York, so maybe we could be Wednesday's stage mothers...after all, our own mothers are not exactly interested in show business."

"And maybe that's a good thing," Mouche added. "I mean, at least we can never accuse them of trying to exploit us."

The ocean looked really beautiful early in the morning. Venice was not quite as seedy as the boulevard made it look at sunset when all the stalls and skate boarders and card sharks and markets had packed up for the day. When we came here with Trish and Mrs Mouche last year, a little girl came up and asked me if I was on some television show. I was so flattered I even signed an autograph, although Mouche disapproved. I didn't want to disappoint my adoring public by telling the truth.

"You're seriously delusional Pheebs," Mouche said.

"No I'm not. I just have a good imagination."

"I think that's why we're friends," Mouche said. "I'm definitely the more pragmatic one."

"It's nearly 10am," I announced, glancing at my sides.

"Think of me doing research as I go shopping."

"Okay."

"_The play is the thing,_ Phoebe."

"Absolutely."

"Shakespeare wrote it, I'm saying it. Now break it and I'll meet you at the sushi bar before lunch with news...then we can talk."

"Text them back..."

"I'm texting them now.."

"Okay. Gotta motor..." We parted with an air kiss on both cheeks which is very theatrical and exactly what women in France and England do all the time.

I took the elevator to the casting office, not far from the Century City shops. When I arrived I was surprised to see Teegan's older sister, Missy, seated at the reception desk.

"Phoebe... er... Harris?"

"Here," I said as Missy huffed with a superior tone and told me to take a seat in the waiting room. I said, "Merci," in keeping with my French theme for the day and started to fill out my form. My wrist foils were scratching my skin as I wrote. Then I anxiously chewed my bottom lip and realized my plumping gloss needed replenishing.

I applied some extra shine. Then I took some deep breaths, very slowly. I didn't really have my mind on the job. I was daydreaming about Mark and holidays and thinking about Mouche's plan and the play, even though I said I wouldn't.

"Phoebe Harris?" Missy enquired, pretending she'd never met me, bringing me back to earth.

"Yes," I said pleasantly.

"You may go in now, we're ready for you."

I was slightly disconcerted that Missy would be sitting in on my audition. With all of these thoughts going through my mind, added to the fact that I was wearing extra high platform "alien" boots, it is not surprising I tripped and fell onto the carpet upon entering the room.

And who should be there to help me up? None other than potential date number one: Matt. Things were looking up. Matt smiled sweetly. His hair was way longer than the fashion of this season might dictate but he wore casual board shorts which I found endearing. Already I had visions of making him my little surfer dude.

An audition is perhaps not the best place to meet a potential date but I didn't want to limit my options to the juniors of Sunrise just yet. I mean, Mark hardly seemed like a sure thing. I know I'm too young for Matt but he is seriously yummy and thinks I'm eighteen and has great hair and nice eyes. Plus, Mouche encouraged me and Thom knows him from some classes they did together at UCLA.

"Hot car," Mouche had noted.

Not that cars and stuff matter but they might count if they become _treasures to hunt and gather._

Teegan's older sister gives me a deceptively sweet smile. She gestures to the director and the camera operator all sitting in the room. In front of me, beyond the audition panel, lies a one eighty degree window overlooking the sprawling maze of highways, concrete and far away movie star houses that make up Los Angeles.

"Phoebe..._Star_?"

"Yes, that's me."

The casting agent looks at me in disbelief as I give her a smile and whisper, "_stage name_."

"So, it's really Phoebe..._Harris?_"

Great, my imagination is working overtime today. I'm staring out the window thinking of Europe and France and England and exotic castles and Mark Knightly...when I should be thinking of Matt and outer space teenage aliens and a third dimension. _Silver, think silver foil _Mouche warned me when I ran my lines last night in the kitchen.

"Hey, haven't we met before?" Matt asks with a very cute smile plastered on his face. He has brown hair and brown eyes and adorable man-sneakers on.

"I think so," I say.

He smiles again in return. He's very responsive. It's like a smiling competition. He's a serious honey but let's face it, an older man is quite a challenge. He's passably cute and I am _so _pretending to be eighteen, and I think this list of requirements for New York has some merit, particularly when I see He's even flashing a silver pen. I feel a little guilty for sounding materialistic and more interested in our dating game than my career but that pen is suddenly reflecting light into my eyes.

"Okay, are you ready...Phoebe?" the director asks. "Okay...action."

I say my lines to Matt who is off camera and pretending to be the other teenage alien. Something beeps. The camera stops. Someone has forgotten to turn off their cell...its Teegan's sister, Missy, creating the interruption, another big surprise. I feel like going all Christian Bale on her but I don't think I'd win any brownie points for doing that.

"So, can we try it again," the director, who is wearing older man sandals (let's just call them mandals) and a shaggy haircut, says.

"Um...Phoebe, did you hear the director? Would you mind trying that scene again?" Teegan's older sister spoke loudly, as if I couldn't hear her.

"Oh, of course."

"And can you remember...she's a _teenager_, and...I need you to look a little..._more alien_...remember, she's just been defending herself against another _species_..." the director added.

"Sure... right." I run my hands over my Princess Leia hair and stretch my fingers.

The director is a little uptight, that's for sure. Mouche would know how to handle a professional film audition better than me, but I'm doing my best.

Me? I'm more of a belter than a contemplator of dialogue.

"And this time," the director says as I find my mark, "try to be a little less sophisticated, remember to play her as a young teenager."

Upping the creep factor again.

"Sure."

"Cos you're, like, what? Sixteen?"

"_Eighteen?" I hesitated, wondering if I should pretend to be more mature. ._

Before I get the chance to answer, someone whispers, "I thought she was younger."

Then Matt hushed s everyone and I notice him wink at the casting guy.

He's totally gay. Of course, I should have remembered, he was a dance major. I realize I have no chance and the camera begins to record my jaw dropping.

This image is forever captured in still format.

I begin to say my lines.

"Stop, stop," the director says.

I look up, a little she'll shocked, wondering if I could ever stand all the lame interruptions of film acting, when the director adds, "And remember..."

"What?" I whisper back, mirroring his manner.

"She's an _alien_. So, play her like an _alien_...we need to see that."

"Okay," I say, very confidently, smoothing my Princess Leia whirls and honing my spaced-out gaze, and putting my forefingers above my ears to give me antennae, making sure not to smile as Teegan's spiteful older sister laughs out loud.

"That was great," the casting agent says as if it wasn't.

"Oh, wait," the director says, "we want a picture of you before you leave. Oh and sweetie, can you wipe off all the make-up..."

I've done enough of these to know they're supposed to take the photograph at the beginning. Can you believe how tacky this industry is? I spent ages getting the right 10x8s for my agent Thom, then these peeps take the entire image away in a minute with the most "natural", digital picture they can muster. That's showbiz.

"Sure," I smile my all-American girl smile. Really, Mouche should be doing this, not me. I'm much more of a stage actress than a film actress. With the camera in my face I feel like an imposter.

"You blew it," Mouche would say when I told her what I did next.

"They took the picture of me on the way out and I turned to the director with my cell and said, "you know what, I think I'll just take one..._snap_...of you too." Thanks for the memories... Everyone looked seriously surprised."

"I'm going to write this up in the guide and even if I don't get the part, we did get a prize." I said, waving the cell image to a waiting Mouche. "See, I'm already becoming a lot more pro-active with the dating game..."

I remembered the casting form I hadn't finished d filling out and ran back to the office. Then I thought of the first item on our list.

"Do you think I could borrow your pen?" I asked Matt, who was "working" on the computer at the front desk.

"You know what?" Matt said, "Why don't you just keep it? I got it for free anyway."

Item number one: _the pen_.

Did that count as a date?


	9. The Missing Page Chapter 9

_**Chapter 9 **_

_**The Missing Page**_

"Of course not. You can't count an audition as a proper date. Well maybe just this once," Mouche said.

"Great," I said. "Then it's your turn next."

"Of course, I've already put myself out on a limb through a series of texts that have resulted in the Fall Fling that can totally count as date three..."

"Ahhh! That's so exciting. When's date two?"

"Ah... Jet and Mark want to meet us this afternoon near Santa Monica Pier to go swimming before we drive home..."

"Are you serious? What should we wear?"

"We should go shopping for swimsuits after lunch. I still have my emergency fund from working during the holidays."

"...mmm...I have exactly ten dollars...but, I have my dance leotard in the car..."

"Okay, perfect. We're meeting them at 1pm."

So, I'm standing at the foot of the escalator, adjusting my boot zipper, checking to see if I've developed blisters and thinking it will be a warm day in the South Pole before I get a movie part, since It's pretty obvious I didn't get this one. Moving right along though, I'm all excited about the impending date when I see Teegan's face (upside down) as she brushes s by me near the cinema complex.

Then, when I stand up I bump into Matt and his boyfriend. I say, "Sorry" and they say "hi" and Mouche giggles.

"You know, Phoebe, men rarely humble themselves. It says here in _How to Date the Undateable p8;_ _"Men rarely apologize...apologies display weakness." _So remember that._"_

Mouche and I decide to go to a healthy looking cafe for lunch before checking out _Victoria's secret _and_ Marcy's_.

We add extra detailed notes, in the cafe, on all the boys in our diary.

"I can call this _The Seduction Cafe_ in my notes next week..." Mouche says. I flicked through the previous entries. At that stage we were reading more guides to dating than actually dating but all of that was about to change.

"_Always be pleasant and eager – how else do you get what you want?"_ I can hear Mouche's voice reading from _The Good Girlfriend_ (page 19) in my mind as we both collapsed in peals of laughter under the pile of titles such as, _"A Woman's Guide to Blissful (and Married) Love"_ (our mother's mothers gave them that when they were teenagers). That particular title fell out of Mouche's tote when the waiter brought us our chicken burgers and fries.

"I thought we were supposed to be eating healthily..."

"This is not so bad, as long as we add ketchup. Ketchup has lots of lycopene which is good for you," Mouche said.

While we were munching away, Freya and Teegan entered the cafe - just to put us off our food. Mouche hurriedly scrunched her notes and stuffed them into her bag.

"Hi Girlfriends," Teegan said. "I think I nailed it."

"Two auditions in one week," Tory added.

"Mmm..."

"Busy pretending to be friends again?" I asked.

"Well of course you nailed it, Teegan," Mouche added. "Isn't your cousin the casting assistant?"

Teegan looked quite put out. "_Older sister,"_ Freya added with a slight giggle and Teegan looked at her and rolled her eyes.

"Well, we gotta go. Meter's running..." This was something Mrs Mouche always said when she was trying to get away from bad boyfriends. Mouche thought it might work just as well with frenemies.

"Hey, we thought we could all have lunch together. We noticed that you were...really popular last week with the boys...I mean they were talking to you and we noticed you are both wearing really hot clothes and someone told us you are going to Fall Fling with Jet and Mark..."

"We've gotta go," Mouche said. "C'mon Phoebe."

I got up to leave.

We weren't ready for a truce just yet. Not when we had planned the year to our social advantage already.

We grabbed our stuff and left, hastily putting our burgers in their napkins.

As we were driving into Santa Monica, I realized we had lost something.

"Oh, no!" I said as Mouche rounded the corner towards the pier.

"What?"

"A page of our notes – they're missing...the page with the plan about how we should turn the teenage boys from _undateable_ to _dated..."_

"But you still have the rules, right?"

"Yeah, they don't know the rules."

Mouche just looked at me in horror. She knew the page had been left in the cafe with Teegan and Freya. It was as if we had armed the enemy with the perfect ammunition: a page of our thoughts about dating the guys at Sunrise High and the back story to each of those guys. We'd unwittingly supplied them with the prequel to the list of rules detailing just enough of our thoughts to lead them to _the plan. _

"We have to focus," Mouche said

"Yes, focus," I replied.

"There's nothing we can do right now," Mouche assured me.

Jet was waiting at the pier with two snow cones when we arrived in Santa Monica. Mark was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey Mouche, hi Phoebe," Jet smiled in the most affable manner and I could tell Mouche smiled extra wide when she noticed the t-shirt he wore advertised a band that she liked.

"Mark had to go...park the car but he said he'd meet us here in ten minutes."

"Great," Mouche said. "Hey, I love your t-shirt. That's my favorite band," she added, sounding just a little over eager if you ask me.

We walked down to a sandy area reserved for "safe swimming" where Jet had arranged to meet Mark. The weather had turned a little and it seemed our beach party idea might have to prematurely end before it started as the sky went from bright to cloudy all in the space of a few minutes.

Mouche and Jet seemed to be having a great time though, splashing each other in the shallow water, as I read over my script sitting on a blanket. Mouche wore an eye-popping pink, polka dot bikini. I'd managed to find my regular navy blue leotard, which could double as a swimsuit. I'd left it in a school bag in the glove compartment of Mouche's car. It was a pity not to wear it. Besides, as the afternoon wore on, it seemed the other half of the date wasn't going to happen.

I looked up from my script when some little kids on the beach kicked sand in my face. I considered the benefits of changing into my regular clothes and waiting in the car instead of being the third wheel. As Mrs Jones said, _"being the third wheel on a date is a form of torture. I'd advise any girl being forced to witness the budding romance of her friend up close and personal...to go shopping."_

Jet and Mouche were laughing in the shallows and although it was good to see them having so much fun, I was becoming a little exasperated. Feeling thirsty, I stood up, pulled on jeans and a t-shirt and yelled out, "I'll be back in ten minutes!" to Mouche.

"What?" Jet replied, until both he and Mouche seemed to understand.

_Go shopping_. It was the one piece of Mrs Jones" advice I maybe shouldn't have taken. I was suddenly extra thirsty and wandered up to the boardwalk to buy a drink. As I was turning to pay, I felt a tug on my purse strings. Not just a tug, a pull and in the time it takes to scream, a small boy ran off with my bag.

He was as fast as lightning but I was also pretty quick and followed him for what seemed like minutes, through a tiny maze of backstreets until I was thoroughly confused and the boy seemed to have disappeared. I was desperate for a phone to call my mother but I didn't want to worry her. Besides, what could she do all the way out in Sunrise? It was darker, later, and I'd been away from the beach for at least half an hour. Mouche would be starting to get worried.

I dusted my jeans off then sat in the curb for a few minutes. Searching for a friendly face to ask for help was probably not the best idea. There was only one business open in this particular side street, and no people. The store looked dark and cramped, but beggars can't be choosers or so the saying goes. Maybe I shouldn't have been so hasty.

Meanwhile, Mark had arrived in Santa Monica. He was late after attending the last of his "counselling" sessions. Mark was required to visit a psychologist after crashing his car into a shop window two years ago and driving without a licence. No one had been hurt, but still, it was a requirement for him to be able to drive without restrictions or Mark never would have attended the "sessions", he later told me. He didn't generally discuss his problems with strangers.

The psychologist's office was not far from Santa Monica but he'd been stuck in traffic. Thoughts of the planned afternoon in Santa Monica were making him impatient. He really did want to get to know Phoebe and Mouche better. He wanted to introduce them to Petra as well. His sister had hardly left her room, except for school, since they'd arrived.

When he'd asked Petra about her first day, she just burst into tears and ran up the stairs.

"That bad?" said Jet, "I told you those HSYL girls are nasty..."

"If my aunt and uncle weren't such snobs she could've just come to Sunrise with us." Mark was thinking about all of this when he noticed a girl who looked a lot like me, running up from Santa Monica beach after "a little street urchin." This alarmed him because he knew the area was not safe if you were by yourself. He knew it was later than expected, but he followed his instinct that all was not okay and tailed me into the laneway.

Meanwhile, Mouche was worried and on the verge of panicking.

Her senses were in overdrive. Although she 'd never admit it to Jet, she had been having very intense dreams lately and had woken up that morning with the idea that something might go wrong during the day if she and I were separated.

"I just can't imagine where she might have gone. We should go look for her. Phoebe would never go off alone and stay away without saying goodbye," Mouche said, as she and Jet dried off and hastily pulled their clothes on over their damp swimsuits. Then she had a vision of a CD outlet and said, "Hurry, we should go up to the business centre beyond Santa Monica Boulevard..."

"How do you know?"

"I just...remembered, Phoebe said something about...buying some CDs..."

So, I guess you could say, by the time I entered the small music store I had three people already searching for me, which could only have been a good thing.

There was a grungy looking man sitting behind the counter, at least ten years older than me, wearing a t-shirt advertising dog fights. He was sort of creepy so I hovered near the entrance, wondering why this store had to be the only one open for business on a Saturday.

"Hi," he said, and looked up. Music blared out.

"Hi," I said hesitantly. I hope he couldn't tell just how freaked out I was about losing my purse, or rather, having it stolen from me. "I'm just wondering which direction the pier is? Someone...a little kid, stole my purse."

He looked concerned.

"Hey, do you want to use the phone or something?

"Uh, okay," I said hesitantly. I was glad I had committed Mouche's cell number to memory. As I took steps forward, he moved off his chair and opened the latch that led to the area behind the counter.

"It's back here."

Suddenly, I was wary.

"Can I use your cell? I'll pay you."

"No problem, except I don't have one."

Who doesn't have a cell? I was backing out the way I came in when I heard a child screech. I looked above me to the open loft in the upstairs section of the store. A child looked down at me; I saw his reflection on the television screen. He was playing a computer game. It was the kid that stole my purse.

"That's him! That's the kid who has my stuff."

It may have been unseemly but I actually pointed towards him.

"Really?" the man said innocently, "He's my nephew, I don't think..."

Suddenly, I had this odd feeling Mr Music Store owner was running some kind of pickpocket racket when suddenly I took a step back into another person and turned around to see the face of Mark Knightly.

"Hey, what's going on?" he said in his rich, low voice.

"That child stole my purse."

Quick as lightening, Mark said, "Wait outside," and pushed d past me to race up the stairs.

I heard a child throwing a tantrum and about ten seconds later Mark emerged with my tote bag in his hands.

"Is this what you were looking for?"

He didn't say anything for at least three minutes as we walked back through the alley way, me trailing along behind his manly strides.

"You shouldn't be hanging out in this area," he felt the need to chide me. He seemed angry.

"Excuse me. It's a free country last time I looked."

I would've said "thank you" more profusely by now but he barely seemed to notice me. He was distracted by a text from Jet.

"Everything's okay, we have to get back to Sunrise. I'll drop you home. Your friend is going ballistic, seems she thought you'd been kidnapped. You shouldn't have just wandered off like that alone."

I was stunned by his near total lack of empathy.

"Well...if you'd been where you said you were going to be, I might have gone swimming and never had my purse stolen in the first place!"

Mark looked annoyed.

"Do you want to report this? I mean, to the Police."

"What's the point, they'll just deny it."

"I'll get my aunt to make an anonymous complaint to child protection. It's probably better that way," Mark said.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well...um, I'm sort of on probation and that guy had a gun under the counter..."

We arrived back at Mouche's house late-afternoon. Mark hardly said a word to me except, "put your seat belt on," on the way back. He was treating me like a child and I really wasn't impressed. It was a thrill to be in his sleek car but I wasn't sure just how much more of his conceited personality I could tolerate.

I was relieved when we pulled up at my house. Mark deposited me in the driveway before I could say "thank you". Mouche arrived about ten seconds later. Jet followed behind in his car. Mouche waved to him as we opened the gate and the boys drove off without even bothering to come inside.


	10. The End of The Day Chapter 10

_**Chapter 10**_

_**The End of the Day**_

Trey was sitting on the porch helping Wednesday to paint her face with glitter and non-toxic substances when we arrived. He gave Mark a quizzical stare, but Trey had ignored me for most of my life so, I pretended not to care. The boys said a brisk, "see ya," to Mouche and me, then left as quickly as they'd arrived.

Mouche's brother looked up at both of us with what could only be described as amusement and derision. I mean, Trey had something of the authority figure aura about him. On this particular day, I have to tell you something I'd refrain from telling Mouche; he looked totally buff. He had hisshirt off because he'd been swimming and his muscles were all big and cut...mmm. Kind of like how Mark might've looked without his shirt, only older.

But Trey was angry. He had a dark, cute little cloud forming over his face and a wrinkle of exasperation between his eyes like he was ready to verbally lose it.

"You guys said you would be back at one. Here." He deposited Wednesday's paintbox in Mouche's hands as if he was glad to be free of it.

"Take it. I've decided child minding is "women's work."

"So-rry. Someone's chauvinistic brother is in a bad mood," Mouche added sarcastically.

"Yeah, yours. I'm going out."

"Oh, it must be that skinny buck-toothed girl who also takes pre-med. She's always coming around," Mouche said with a clever little sister smile. Mouche was particularly outspoken with family members and Trey was usually a safe target.

He grabbed her sun hat and she chased her brother up the stairs but when he locked the child-proof fence behind him, Mouche screamed until he threw her hat back at her.

Trey pretended not to notice me after that.

Later, Mouche and I occupied Wednesday by allowing her to play with our makeup, while we compared shoes and ate gummy candy.

When he was ready to go out, Trey left a slightly sweet smell in the hallway. As he walked past us, the air reeked of aftershave.

"Wearing the latest "perfume for men" are we? Oh, He's so manly," Mouche teased.

I swooned. Poor Trey just went all red and bolted out the door.

Mouche and I both laughed and Wednesday clapped her hands again. She really was the smartest almost-three year old in the world.

When Wednesday was born, Mouche and I applauded Mouche's mom for her original name choice. Mrs Mouche liked to watch re-runs when she was a little girl of this classic show on television where the child was called, you guessed it, Wednesday. So, Mouche's little sister is not just named after the day she arrived in the world. In any case, I've offered to babysit tonight, because Mouche has a "date."

We have planned to go for a swim. After that, I've promised to teach Wednesday how to become a star. Some teenagers don't like little kids but I love hanging out with Wednesday and if I didn't want to be an actress, I might even become a nursery school teacher.

Mouche has her "practice date" organised for this evening from 6pm to 8pm with Scott Riley who lives across the road because, according to _Mrs Jones"_ guide, "_a first date can often go badly._.._always have your next date planned, that way you won't fret if the first one doesn't work out...there are plenty more fish in_ _the sea._"

Mouche gives her date with Jet priority so she's practicing with Scott. She suggested I also go with them to the "Midnight-Zoo" (the Sunrise baby-animal zoo opens late once a year) but I don't want to be the "third wheel" again. Besides, I've been reading all about Africa in geography. One day I intend to go on a safari so I won't be missing anything I can't see in future.

"I wanna come too," Wednesday says as she watches Mouche run the straightening iron through her hair."

"Oh, you get to stay with me, Wednesday. Lucky you..." I say.

"Lucky me! Lucky me!" Wednesday says, clapping her hands. Children are so cute when they are pre-school age.

"How do I look?" Mouche says ten minutes later.

"Hot." We both clap our hands like we are Mouche's fan club. "We are so glad we're not going with you," I whisper under my breath. Scott was not exactly my dream man.

"Now", I said to Wednesday after Mouche vacated, "I'm going to put on this DVD of Mouche and I singing songs in first grade, you'll just love it... and we can practice all the words after we've watched it."

Of course, Wednesday sang along for about ten minutes and I danced around with her but after all the face painting exertion, she wound up asleep in the corduroy beanbag in front of the television. I moved her out of the way of the radiation and looked up to see Trey rifling through a drawer in the kitchen.

"Hey Phoebe, has Mouche just left you guys here?"

"Yeah, it's okay, I promised your mom I'd wait until she comes home. My mom is coming home soon...she has a late showing." My mom was busy selling a house three streets away.

"Okay, if you're sure it's alright. You are really good with her..."

"Uh...thanks." I smile. Trey is looking super hot. What a shame he is an older man and totally annoying. He thinks he's going to be a band manager as well as a doctor.

"...So?" I asked Trey.

"Huh?"

"Forget something?" I said with a smile.

"Oh, I'm just trying to find my car keys..."

"I think they're in the fruit bowl..."

"Oh," he says, grinning at me all white toothed and handsome. Gosh, he's almost as good-looking as Mark Knightly, and because he's older, he might even be hotter.

Mouche and I took Trey's car for a spin once when he was studying. He didn't even notice it was gone until after we arrived home. Trey is so busy studying and trying to promote his band that the more important things in life, like having some serious fun, might just bypass him if he's not careful.

"I love your aftershave," I say, really sarcastically.

He looks so embarrassed and Wednesday stirs and mumbles, "After-wave" and Trey looks uncomfortable and says, "See ya" in a confused manner and hurries out the door.

"_If a man is hesitant around you, don't imagine you've reeled him in. He may just be unsure whether or not he wants to make the first move. And a man should always make the first move. And really, girls, do you want a man who doesn't think enough of you to make the first move?" _Oh, _Mrs Robinson_ can just shut up for the next day or so. I totally enjoyed making Trey cringe. Honestly, my new found confidence and all those old dating guides are working wonders.

As Wednesday slept, I wrote up the _Boy-Rating_ guide with the events of the day and the plan for the following month. Mouche and I are big on planning.

But when it came time to put pen to diary paper, all I could think to write about my "date" was:

_Date with Matt the UCLA older man – possibility- didn't occur _

_Rating 3/10 _

_Items for the treasure chest: silver pen. _

_Possible Date with Mark Knightly – My saviour!_

_Rating 6/10 – it didn't really happen, but he still managed to be in the right place at the right time. Yay! Thus far has revealed an arrogant nature with little regard for the feelings and schedule of others (i.e. me)._

_Items for treasure chest locker: the receipt for my drink (doesn't really count). _

I think I was sleepy by then because when I woke up it was morning and Mouche was lying on the floor next to Wednesday on the couch in front of the television. Breakfast News was playing. My mom had left me a note saying when she came by we were asleep and Mrs Mouche was home and she was going to come around at 9am to have breakfast with us. I'd looked so happy dozing and needed my rest.

Trish was busy with her own life so she probably didn't notice _The Boy Rating Diary_ lay open on the floor on page nine (The first eight pages were filled with notes taken from various guides – mostly _Mrs Robinson's _ and _Mrs Jones"_ since they were our favorites). The notes included sub-headings (that might be of use to younger sisters such as Wednesday when she's older) with topics such as:

_Boyzamples (examples of familiar boy-types i.e.: academic, sporty, emo etc.)_

_How to behave on dates _

_Likes / dislikes of future men _

_Targeted potential boy candy and _

_Items needed for your journey; be it New York, Los Angeles or Paris_

_The first page gave our mission statement:_

_This is the work of Phoebe Anderson and Mouche Macintosh. _

_Phoebe wants to be a Broadway singer, dancer, and actress. Mouche: a brilliant lawyer. We want to help others as well as ourselves. This is our expose of the pre-men and women of Sunrise High (and a few random adults) starting with the Princesses and moving on down the list of pre-men prototypes we have or intend to date. _

_What follows is our advice, gleaned from hundreds of hours of research. We hope our experiences can shed light on yours._

After my notes on date one, Mouche added hers when she arrived home:

_Date 3: Mouche and Scott _

_2/10_

_Identifying factors: his mother drove us everywhere_

_Job and personality: student, primary focus; science fair _

_Kisses: one on hand_

_Items gained: A feather (also disguised as a pen)_

_Possibility of re-date: none (hopefully)_

_*Date 2 Mouche...continued (notes):_

"_Everything that could possibly be humiliating and bad about a date happened on this one...first of all, his mom came with us, which I thought was bizarre at first, but then it was okay. Scott's mom was dressed like a hippie but it turns out we had a lot in common (we all liked pizza) so it wasn't too bad. In fact it was preferable to talking to Scott as he didn't have anything to say. It was also really sweet when she made her son open my door for me. I thought it was cute that she was teaching him to be chivalrous even if some people think it's old-fashioned. Up until then he hadn't spoken until we walked past the penguin enclosure..."_

"_I hope you don't mind my mom coming. It's just that...It's her car and she doesn't trust me to drive it."_

_Wow is this supposed to make me feel secure in his arms? Wait a minute; I'm not even in his arms..._

_Then he says, "After dinner let's leave her in the gift shop and go make out..."_

"_Are you serious? It would be a bit rude leaving your mom like that..."_

_He's starting to seem less like a nerd and more than a little undutiful...worst date ever except for the baby animal zoo where I got to feed a lot of different species and Scott's mom, who used to be a vet, explained loads of interesting stuff to me. I think I will introduce her to my mom and Trish. She told me she her husband just ran off with a woman he met online. _

_Is there something in the water of Sunrise? I shouldn't be too hard on Scott. He must have immediate family tensions. Give him an extra point. Prompt arrival home at 8pm – Phoebe and Wednesday were asleep on the couch. We picked up Wednesday and I'm writing this while you were sleeping. Can't wait for the Fall Fling. This was just for practice. First planned dates are always just for practice. Onwards and upwards, Mrs Mouche always says. 'Night._


	11. The cast list Chapter 11

_**Chapter 11**_

_**The Cast List**_

"Also, his mom was driving," Mouche said as we walked through our school corridor on Monday after lunch, on our way to check the cast list for _Rocco and Julie: A Teen Tragedy! _

Teegan, Tory, Brooke and Freya glared at us from behind their lockers. Their looks said it all; don't even think you're going to beat us to the leading roles.

"I need to speak to you," Teegan said to Mouche, "It's about a certain crumpled piece of paper you left near the Century City sushi bar..."

"I'll have to check my schedule, Teegan, to see when I'm free. Maybe I can pencil you in. Meanwhile, I wouldn't talk about what I'd read, if I were you..."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, It's a warning..." Mouche replied.

There was some serious history and a buzz going around that Mouche and I had already been asked to the Fall Fling by Jet and Mark. The rumor about Teegan and Tory going instead, was just that.

The Princesses were on the warpath.

"We know you are up to something," Teegan accused Mouche.

"It's just a matter of time before we find out what," Tory added.

"I figure it will take them at least two weeks to work it out," Mouche whispered.

"Especially since there are added distractions," I replied.

Mr Sparks started clapping as we walked towards the notice board.

I pretended to be nonchalant as I glanced up and saw my name and Jet's and Teegan's and...Mark's? Are they kidding? He never even auditioned. Oh, there he is next to stage management and lighting and understudying. And then there, next to the role of Julie, was my name. Tory was playing the second lead. Mouche and I were pretty excited. Tory was mortified to be relegated to the part of Julie's "best friend."

"This could be interesting," I thought.

"Mmm..." Tory sniffed, "there are no small parts, only small actors."

"Keep telling yourself that, Tory." Mouche added as we gathered our shoes for tap class.

Mouche was to play the dream sequence "dancer Julie", even though she hadn't auditioned. Mr Sparks said he had some kind of contemporary dance in mind, and since Mouche was the best dancer in school, he'd like her to do it.

"People just don't get it Pheebs, when I say I'm giving up dance, though I love it. Let's face it, my feet are too big to get into American Ballet Theatre anyway."

Performing Arts students took up the majority of the cast. Peter was playing Rocco and Mouche was also responsible for costumes and dance as well as a smaller role with one line which is "exactly" what she wanted (so she could concentrate on getting the near-perfect scores she would need for her scholarship). Mouche has always had a way of twisting Mr Sparks and Miss Tartt around her little finger.

Suddenly we saw Jet. Teegan had cornered him in the theatre studies hall and was monopolizing his company. He seemed very keen to get away from her.

"Avert your eyes," I warned Mouche, but she didn't seem at all bothered.

"I'd be so over him, but I'm definitely up for dating him at least once. He's the perfect boyzample for Saturday night."

"What...hot?"

"No, delusional...you can just tell he thinks the whole world loves him. I've changed my mind about him since watching him flirt with just about every girl he meets."

"But he did ask you, and he doesn't know anyone, and you seemed to have a great time swimming on Saturday. You can't blame him for trying to make friends."

"It says here, "_guys want other guys for "intellectual company" _meaning not girls."

"Well that guide sucks...it's wrong..."

"Wouldn't be so hasty about that..."

"What decade was it written in anyway, _the 1930s?_"

"1960s. Hey, did you see what Mark was wearing today? Hot jacket. He really is...very European. Here...check this out."

That's when Mouche handed me the note, and before I had to worry about her sudden interest in Mark, I realised she had date four already in the bag.

Tobias Olsen. Who knew he had a weekend interest in golf?

"When are you meeting him?"

"I don't know. I'm thinking, practice range, next week, but I haven't replied yet. Sometimes it's good to make them wait and leave them wondering..."

"I doubt it, "_men don't beg"_, it says so here, page 38."

Mouche was becoming very confident with regard to the rules we'd written. Was the game going to her head? Had the plan overtaken real life?

"Give me that."

I handed her Mrs Mouche's tome, _Mrs Robinson's Guide to Getting Your Man._

"What a load of garbage," Mouche said, "I can't believe life was like this..."

We read on about the necessity of "nailing" your man and securing his affections in order to get him to "propose"...

"Propose what?" Mouche said, "_A lifetime of childbirth and slavery for women way back when _– now she was reading _A History of Suffrage_ – and was hooked. "I'm so glad we were born in the 90s."

"_The Boy Rating Diary _is about the possibility of love and romance..." I say with a hint of irony.

"True..," Mouche replied.

It was mid-afternoon and instead of study hall we had preliminary "rehearsal time" which is another reason all of the performing arts students and so many of the general studies students were now involved in the play. Teegan was being consoled by her "sorority sisters" about not getting the part she wanted.

"Never mind", Freya said helpfully, "you couldn't play the role you wanted anyway. They're not even doing _Hairspray_."

"I know but it was the perfect part for me. She's not even that talented."

"I know, I can't believe you didn't get it, you are much more talented...and beautiful," Brooke said.

"I'm not talking about the stupid play! I'm talking about the tacky film!"

"Never mind. It _was_ low-budget, Teegs."

"They decided to cast an African-American. My sister just texted me. This has been the worst day of my entire life. I'm a winner, not some loser." The other Princesses commiserated with Teegan.

Thom had texted me that morning, so I knew I hadn't got the film part either. But the play kind of made up for it.

"Never mind," he'd said, "I'm going to send over a scout to see you in your new showcase at the end of your junior year. How's Wednesday?"

Thom was ever the optimist. So what if I didn't get some stupid part? I wouldn't give those who'd slighted me the thrill of seeing me losing my pride and crying in public.

Then Thom texted me with an audition for Wednesday: _toddlers needed at 3.30pm casting suite, North Road don't be late! _

"I think he might just be using you to get to my sister," Mouche said.

"It might be fun...I think Wednesday would like it..." I replied.

Mouche pulled my cell off me at that point.

"I just know that teacher is going to completely lose it if I don't," she whispered as Miss Tartt snuck up behind us and then hovered in the corner like an eagle. Mouche is very intuitive like that. She's also smart enough not to get caught up in the acting game and risk getting her feelings hurt time and again.

"Maybe we shouldn't risk Wednesday's self-esteem." I added as an afterthought.

"No. But sometimes it's good to take risks. I have a feeling if she auditions, she might just get it."

"Really? And life is about taking chances to make gains," I said. "That's why we are putting our hearts and minds on the line for the _Boy-Rating Diary_."

"Okay, but right now, we're supposed to be learning the basic script for _Rocco and Julie – a Teen Tragedy..._oh, please," Mouche sighed. "I'm glad I only have one line."

It is a little known fact that Mr Sparks, who has an ego mightier than just about anyone you will ever meet, had scrapped the whole idea of doing _Hairspray_ because of "costs". Our afternoon theatre classes are now replaced by play rehearsals and the dancers, singers and actors are all in different groupings going over their scenes. Mr Sparks is egomaniacal, of course, but also unintentionally funny. The incidental music and dancing is, I must grudgingly admit, very memorable. Although I am trying to be contained, I'm obviously thrilled to have the lead role.

We can hear Mr Sparks in the hallway having a very heated argument with the vice-principal about budgeting, as Mouche and I read our scripts backstage.

"No, _non, non_! It actually _saves_ money if some of the teachers play the adult parts..."

"Yes, Gary, but not just _one_ of the teachers playing _three _parts..."

"Are you saying I'm not qualified to play the roles? I went to drama school. I have an MFA! I'm the best man for the job!"

Wow, we'd never heard Mr Sparks so hysterical. Mouche started giggling.

"I'm just saying, you might try giving at least two of the parts to the older boys...directing is a full-time job, Gary, and the school understands all the sacrifices you make..."

"Typical," Mouche and I said, snacking on Pringles and highlighting our dialogue with pink fluorescent pens, "that man is totally driven."

"I overheard Tory saying he tried to cast himself in _all_ the leading roles, including the female ones, but in the end gave up and that's why he only had three, and now He's only got one."

Teegan snorted with laughter and all the Princesses overheard us because they were seated close by. An onlooker might almost have thought we were friends. Almost. Mark walked past us and the students parted company for him. He looked very miserable, like he wanted to drop out of school. Then he looked up at Mouche and me, said, "Hi, see you Saturday," and smiled.

I felt a secret thrill when he spoke and Mouche said, "Sure."

"Throwing you a bone, is he girlfriends?" Teegan whispered witheringly. Jealousy is such an affliction.

We all gathered around the stage at the close of the school day, the students playing leading roles as well as the soloists, including Teegan, Freya Tory and Brooke.

"There's just not enough of _me me me_ to go around, people," Mr Sparks said on stage, the strobe lights sedating us into submission, making the auditorium seem like a daytime disco.

"Welcome to week one of rehearsals for the school play. Whilst it is normally the performing arts students who swell the ranks of our cast (Mr Sparks winked at Peter Williamson and Mouche and me) we are happy to have the addition of many of our talented general studies students with us. In the weeks ahead we will create our show, our _piece de_ _resistance._ It will take hours of hard labor to create genius. During our last week we'll be rehearsing all weekend, so I'd like you to make a note in your journals or cells and keep the weekend of the eighth free."

Everyone whipped out their cells or whatever they used to keep dates in.

I cringed for the boys. Mark was sitting there in a black leather jacket looking really hot and arty but holding a Physics text, not exactly interested, although I did see him glance in my direction at least once. Perhaps I imagined it.


	12. Joel Chapter 12

_**Chapter 12**_

_**Joel**_

I had to leave rehearsals early that afternoon because I was due to meet Joel for our scheduled half hour tutoring session. Basically, I go over his English essays and he signs my form to say I helped him. This is supposedly a win-win situation but He's not usually very helpful when we meet in the library. I guess you could say He's just not into this. He will leave if I'm even five minutes late and He's not exactly grateful to be in my company. In _Mrs Robinson's Guide p29 it is written: "...on the subject of appearing grateful within relationships; many men have stated that they just want a woman who is thankful for the little things in life, who doesn't make them feel like they are being used as a husband and provider..."_

Pl-ease.

No problems in this town where most of the husbands and providers abscond for some reason. I'm not joking. The average marriage of all of our parents in Sunrise (Jet's included) lasts around eight years. Most of the splits are "amicable" divorces but very few people had actually "lost" parents, except Mark and Petra.

I overheard Tory gossiping in rehearsal about Mark's long ago family "tragedy" - his parents being killed.

"It explains his reckless driving," Teegan noted. "He wants to push the boundaries."

I rolled my eyes when I heard this but Brooke just nodded sycophantically. I felt bad for Mark though. No wonder he relied so much on his friendship with Jet, who seemed more like a brother to him.

I thought about rehearsal as I ran over to the library...

Mr Sparks" welcome speech was totally full of crazy innuendo but he'd never actually _do _anything about it. He could never even like another human being (let alone be attracted to one) more than himself. I guess Mr Sparks is kind of good-looking but don't get worried. We'd never include Mr Sparks in the dating game. We're not that delusional. But I have to admit, apart from the star trip factor; Mr Sparks really is a great director. He's just filled to the brim with enthusiasm, drive and creative vision. It's quite inspirational.

Earlier in the day, Mark didn't seem to notice Mr Sparks" tantrum. He was obsessed with the lighting guide and talking to the other assistant stage manager, already in control. Meanwhile, Mr Sparks threw his hands in the air after a few hours of trying to coax onstage emotions out of Jet. Finally, Mr Sparks realized he'd never make a "true actor" out of Jet and just praised him for showing up. "There is honour in the attempt," he said, quoting someone famous for sure.

Mouche was hunched in a corner with Miss Tartt. They were discussing costumes and holding up fabric samples in the patch of light peeping in between the blackout curtains. I started learning my scenes with Tory – joy of joys. We were loud and enthusiastic and Mark was hesitant and looked almost disapprovingly above the script as he prompted us. His lack of enthusiasm was beginning to annoy me. It didn't bode well for Saturday night although Jet seemed far friendlier.

It was almost dark before I managed to slip away and find Joel in A-block.

He was sitting in an abandoned desk balancing a pencil and an eraser on his nose when I entered. Joel had been at track team practice. He was wearing a hoodie and baggy sweat pants.

"Hi Joel," I said warily. "Did you bring your essay?"

"It's in my pocket," Joel said and pulled out a crumpled mess of papers patterned with coffee stains.

"Here."

"You mean you actually did the work?"

"Don't sound so surprised...you inspire me."

"Is that supposed to be a joke?" I was pretty sure I'd heard that line before.

Suddenly he sat up straight and pulled the eraser off his forehead.

"Um...yes?" He sounded sarcastic and unsure.

"Well, I can take this home and check it and let you know if there is anything you need to change."

"I doubt there will be..."

"Modest..."

"Well, this one's from the heart," Joel said, punching his chest.

He was kind of funny so I smiled.

We had to write an essay for English; add an unwritten chapter to _Wuthering Heights_. Joel didn't like to read so I was surprised that his essay was at least six pages long. I flicked through it. There were some very deep and meaningful phrases...

"There seems to be a lot of words here."

"Oh, that's okay; you can just put a line through some of them..."

"Uh...okay."

Joel was a lone warrior. He never hung out in a group but seemed friendly enough with all of his exes. He got up and walked to the door after I'd signed his little form. I was left alone in the classroom.

It was actually the junior class homeroom and I couldn't resist noticing that Mark Knightly's desk had some papers sticking out of it. I didn't think it would matter if I just lifted the lid slightly in order to place everything in the correct order; a little-used copy of _Wuthering Heights_ under some scribbled pages of Roman history notes_. _Then I looked at Jet Campbell's desk. I saw a photograph taken at rehearsals and the person smiling out from the middle of the group was Mouche. It was bothering me that, once again, Mouche was the centre of attention but I was also glad Jet was crushing on her. I quickly took out my cell and snapped a photograph of the messy desk to add to the expanding guide_._

Mouche pulled out the note again as we jumped into the jeep.

"Guess what?"

"What?"

"I found this note detailing: _Everything I like about M.M_. That's me! I've compared this note to the notes on the lighting list that I need a copy of because I'm designing the costumes..."

"And?"

"And? It's Jet Campbell's handwriting."

"Really?"

"I think it's kind of cute. I'm going to keep it safe...maybe I'll even get to corner him backstage in the dressing room," Mouche joked.

I felt a little bristle on the back of my arms. Mark had practically ignored me all rehearsal. But I had to fess up.

"I found this in his desk when I was supposed to be tutoring Joel..."

"Now Joel is like, the ultimate unobtainable man...definitely third on my list after Jet and Mark," Mouche said.

"Tell me about it..."

Mouche reverted to the subject at hand.

"I don't get it. So Jet took some photos this afternoon..."

"Yeah, you're in all of them..." I replied.

"So?"

"So, it's obvious, he likes you..."

"Well, maybe that's because I grabbed him backstage and got on him after everyone else had left..."

"Geez Mouche, are you serious? We're not supposed to be...actually..._doing it_ with them."

"I didn't mean that... gross. I'm just kidding. I've never touched the guy apart from when I held his hand in the ocean. He'd have to actually date me a couple of times to get more than a smile. But I am considering an amendment to the rules. I think the girls should be able to chase the boys, if you know what I mean..."

"The overwhelming majority of the guides are right when they state the _boys_ have to chase the _girls._..or the guys are just not into it. It's like a universal rule of dating." I didn't want to admit I'd flirted with Trey. It was way out of character for me and I'd ended up looking ridiculous as usual.

"I suppose, besides this game isn't about losing our morals...but it might be fun to encourage the Princesses to lose whatever is left of theirs..." Mouche said.

Just then we were driving past a religious group protesting outside the local court with placards held up, one of which read: _**Do you want to be a garden for Jesus or a vessel for sin?"**_

"I'm just kidding. I'm totally waiting for true love, just like you, but you never know... Jet could be...the one. Look what he gave me after rehearsal today."

We'd put up a note from the wardrobe mistress asking everyone to bring extra clothing and unwanted items from home for the costume department.

"Jet brought in this adorable, navy blue, velvet beret to add to my collection. It used to belong to his mother but she doesn't wear it anymore."

"It will be great for the final, tragic scene when Tory gives you the poison."

"Definitely," I agree.

"But I have to warn you, although I can't wait for Saturday night, we have a problem..."

"I know..."

"Teegan has worked out that we are having a dating competition... and she wants in," Mouche added.

"But she doesn't even know the rules..."

"Exactly..." Mouche smiled.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Maybe..."


	13. The Fall Fling Chapter 13

_**Chapter 13**_

_**The Fall Fling**_

We decided to get ready at Mouche's place. That night, my mom had arranged to have dinner with Mouche's mom and their next door neighbors on either side; a "younger man" theology student and a builder who has recently separated from his wife and "needed some cheering up." All the adults planned to play wordand card games for dessert.

"Well, I hope you don't get the wrong idea and start playing strip poker or something," Mouche warned her mother, "and if you do, make sure Wednesday is safely tucked up in bed."

"Yes, darling." Mrs Mouche replied wearily.

Since her mother had taken to socializing, Mouche had taken to answering the phone at midnight (when Mrs Mouche's recently separated friends would ring for "desperation chats") and say, "hello, this is _Mrs Mouche's brothel_," which Mrs Mouche did not think was funny at all.

Trey was at college during the semester and only came home to visit on weekends. Thankfully, he seemed to have forgotten all about my retrospectively juvenile attempt to chat him up. He'd taken to ignoring me or being jokey in an offhand way. I must admit the fact that I asked where he was and Mouche gave me a knowing glance made me realize I might actually have feelings for Trey as well as Mark and maybe, help me, even Joel. I was becoming a hussy in my own mind.

Mouche was formulating another plan as she pulled out the diary notes which were now stowed under her canopied bed, when they weren't with me for updates.

"Teegan is totally onto us. I've managed to distract her for the evening but only because I suggested we all form a group table so the Princesses can get some attention from Mark and Jet."

"Oh, please, I thought this was supposed to be _our_ date."

"Well, it was, but a group date is by its very nature, open for negotiation. I really don't want her to tell everyone we've formed a secret dating society that has a list of rules for manipulating boys. That would totally wreck the plan. Maybe we should start pretending we actually like the Princesses tonight – it might be a better strategy."

"Uh, okay," I said pulling out an issue of _Teen Vogue_ and flicking through an article on the latest reality TV drama_._

"I can't wait to see what's going to happen next season."

"Me either, I so don't think It's set up."

"No way...at least I hope not. I think they should definitely do a spin off..."

"Totally."

"I hope they keep filming until they all finish college and get married..."

"That'd be good."

I'm trying on shoes when Mrs Mouche brings us in snacks on a tray.

"That show seems so addictive, girls..." Mrs Mouche commented with a raised eyebrow. "Here you are..."

Mrs Mouche makes the most delicious party food. It's like food her mom used to make. She's brought in an orange with toothpicks stuck all over it and on the end of the toothpicks are delicious cheeses and sausage and pickles – very grown up - and a bowl of chips and another of carrot sticks ("_for vitamins, girls"_). To top it all off she brought in her famous banana smoothies with nutmeg and vanilla, "just because I don't like you girls going out without food in your stomachs. It's not a good idea..."

Mrs Mouche is subtly warning us about the perils of social drinking and roofies. We are all like, "you so don't have to worry about us..."

"Good", Mrs Mouche says, looking slightly worried.

I have chosen the blue satin dress that ends just above my knees and blue satin strappy sandals. Mouche is wearing a pink vintage dress with delicate lace sleeves. Oh, plus ankle boots.

"You look weely nice," Wednesday says. "I want to come too." She's wearing her fairy wings and gold antennae.

"No," Mouche says, "you get to stay here with mom."

"C'mon, darling, time for bed," Mrs Mouche says, as the doorbell rings and Wednesday starts having a tantrum until Mrs Mouche promises to read her her favorite bedtime story again.

Mouche opens the door and it's Trey, home early, who introduces Martin.

"Hi girls, this is Martin. He's studying to be a priest..."

It's the theologian from next door. Perhaps he's coming over to make an honest woman of Mrs Mouche. Don't you just hate that phrase? _"How about making an honest man out of the bastard who knocked her up and left her?" _Mouche once stated matter-of-factly.

"Hello girls," Martin says, as we open the door. Mrs Mouche is tucking Wednesday in upstairs.

"So", Mouche says, "are you training to be one of those priests who can't get married?"

Martin (that was his name) laughed heartily. He seemed to glow with the genuine joy of one who has found God.

"Oh, your mother said you were a character."

Mouche looked at me and rolled her eyes as if to say, _you see what I have to put up with_?

"And where are you both off to tonight?" Martin asked politely.

"The Fall Fling," I say helpfully.

"And what is that, exactly?"

"Well, it's like a dance held part-way through the year to prepare us for the actual prom..."

"Oh, that sounds like fun..." Martin smiled enthusiastically.

Suddenly a Mercedes pulled up outside Mouche's house and the boys got out.

"Jet is dressed in a very funky suit - maybe it's European. Mark looks more formal. He's even wearing a tie," Mouche said.

There was a knock and after we raced down the stairs, Mouche opened the door. Mark looked straight at me then at my mother. Mrs Mouche walked down the stairs in her "dinner party" dress – a floor length cotton sundress with billowy sleeves and Indian print that her mother wore to "entertain guests" in the 1980s.

"Wow", Martin said, "you look really hot."

Raising an eyebrow, Trey excused himself to go upstairs and study_._ Meanwhile, Mouche looked a little apprehensive as Mark and Jet hovered at the door.

"Hello boys," Mrs Mouche said. At this point Trish, my mom, arrived with her dinner "date" and Mouche and I realized this was the right time to make a getaway. Mark had barely looked at me, again, but Jet said appreciatively, "you both look really nice." He's going to be the mother's favorite - I could just tell.

Mark was behaving like the "strong, silent and socially uncomfortable type" in family situations. He'd give me something to write up in the dating guide, that's for sure.

Mrs Mouche pulled me aside, "sweetie, I thought this was a group event."

"Oh, it is Mrs Mouche. We are all sharing a table with some other juniors." I think Mrs Mouche can sense Mark is dangerous.

"Mmm... well, he certainly is good-looking," she whispered disapprovingly. "Now make sure you are both home by 10.30pm."

"Can we make it 11pm, just this once?"

"No, I remain firm on that."

My mother was very particular about curfews whereas Mrs Mouche usually trusted that Mouche would come home when she was ready and text her if she was not. But not tonight.

Mark still hadn't said a word.

He didn't look very impressed by the surroundings. He was actually fidgeting when we moved to the door.

Mouche stated the obvious and said, "You both look like gangsters."

I forgot to mention the post-prom party at Jet's has a gangster theme; gangsters as in 1920"s gangsters. I thought it was cool that the boys bothered to pick us up, even though Mouche insisted upon it and it was in the dating rules.

"It's really _the kind of thing a girl should expect, not be thankful for_," Mouche stated, quoting Mrs Jones again.

You could tell they'd taken the gangster thing seriously because there were sawn off toy shotguns on the back seat and when Mrs Mouche saw them she must have looked alarmed because Jet said, "oh don't worry, they're fake."

Then Trish came over and said, "Boys, you just can't go around like that. Anyone might think you were packing a - what do they call it in those crime shows?"

"Packing a piece?" Jet said, helpfully.

"Yes, packing a piece."

The boys loaded the toys into the trunk of the car.

"That's better," my mother said.

Martin came out and took photographs which made Mouche and I want to cringe and Mark was looking seriously uncomfortable when he leaned on the porch and a piece of panelling fell off the surrounding fence.

Then the dog from a neighbor's backyard escaped, ran wild, started barking and nearly savaged Jet. Suddenly Wednesday felt it timely to attempt cartwheels on the front porch even though she was supposed to be in bed – she didn't seem to be bothered about showing off her cartoon character underwear but I didn't think it was at all appropriate. And then Ella and Katie arrived with their mothers and their dates. The cousins started giggling and chewing gum. It was wildly embarrassing as they all waved goodbye to us when we walked to the car. Mark glared at me as if I was pure trailer trash.

Jet was smiling and still his good-natured self. And I may have imagined it, especially since both our moms were treating Jet and Mark like princes, but Mark actually looked bored when we got into the car. Or was it worried? Either way, this really annoyed me. I thought even Joel might have had a sense of humor about the whole thing and I wished d he'd invited me instead.

Mark saving my life in the alley was no reason to feel indebted forever. Besides, he'd hardly spoken to me tonight and I wasn't responding well to being ignored. I wondered if, realistically, I was at all suited to the strong and silent type. Still, I was pleased to see he'd made an effort. His hair was extra shiny and his shirt freshly ironed. I wondered if he had a housekeeper because I couldn't imagine him doing menial tasks himself.

Jet kept trying to touch Mouche's knees in the car and was attempting to play footsie with me which I found pretty immature. Mark sat still, making little effort to converse and staring out the window. Meanwhile, I was adjusting my corsage, an old fashioned touch which Mouche and I had been presented with upon the boys" arrival. The corsage was a timeless romantic teen motif and we were secretly thrilled at the complimentary color scheme of our peonies. Jet swigged something out of his flask and Mouche looked at me as if to say, "This is going to be a long evening."

When we arrived at the school gym, the Princesses were taking turns to hand out punch. We knew we all had to put in an appearance for at least an hour at the dance. Then we could head to the post dance party at Jet's mansion.

Now it was true that Mark looked quite cute in repose, wearing his gangster's suit, but he hadn't said a word to me all evening. The silence was beginning to seriously annoy me since half the night was already over. Playing cool certainly wasn't getting the desired response. Then Jet spiked his own punch and pulled his jacket off and dragged Mouche with him onto the stage. The band played hits from previous decades. My toe started to tap on the dance floor. My date appeared to be unaware of my presence.

Meanwhile, Teegan, who was wearing the latest designer rip-off from the famous Sunrise store, _Fake,_ put down her glass of punch and walked boldly up to Mark, who seemed busy ignoring me and texting on his cell, and said, "hi Mark. Do you want to dance?"

"Um...I don't really dance," he replied in a very uptight, distracted way. One of the decorations fell from the imagined sky as he spoke and a little piece of tin foil streamer played in Teegan's hair, irritating her more than the rebuff.

Teegan blew the foil off her face and fronted Mark squarely. She looked defeated but tried once again, "uh, okay, but why don't we make an exception to that rule? I could teach you."

"No thank you," he said, and walked off, brushing past me in the process. He didn't even ask me if I wanted a drink, although the queue was long and I was totally parched. And though men were few, men who were taller than girls were even fewer, so when Teegan mimed to me, "we-eird-o!" I found myself grudgingly in agreement.

"Mark was standing about a metre in front of me texting someone, I'm not sure who. Probably his girlfriend back in England or wherever," I told Mouche later.

"Ru-ude," Mouche agreed.

I danced with Joel who'd arrived with two girls, dressed as gangster's molls wearing drop-waisted dresses with tassels on the hems. Joel walked up to me and took my hand. We had about five minutes on the dance floor until the music became so wild that Joel and his girlfriends (whom I happen to know also "tutor" him, that is, do his homework on alternate days) kind of joined in until there was very little space left on the dance floor for me anyway, so I walked off.

Brooke was standing on the sidelines, looking uncharacteristically alone at the punch bowl. She had her curls tied in a bow at the side of her face and her nails freshly painted a fluorescent shade of pink. I wandered over to finally get something to drink.

"Mmm..." Brooke sighed, "Mark is so cute. I wonder if he likes spiked punch..."

Mark had finished d texting at this point but was still busy ignoring me.

Jet had stopped dancing with Mouche and was walking towards the punch table to get his flappers a drink. It looked for the entire world like an old-fashioned 1920"s dance, piquing my imagination.

However, what happened next really was unexpected.

"Mark," Jet said, "what are you doing?"

"I'm texting Petra. I'm worried about her. We shouldn't have left her home alone."

"Petra will be fine. Your aunt came home before we left. Besides, how could we bring her? She doesn't even go to this school. You know we had to check our IDs at the door. Besides, we'll be home in half an hour and Petra can join in when we get there."

"So Petra is either the sister or the girlfriend," I said to no one in particular.

"She's the sister," Mouche replied. "What's with Mark?"

"I don't know. He hasn't spoken to me all night."

"This is so not in the rules," Mouche said, raising an eyebrow.

"Not everything goes by the rules. Besides, I don't even know what to say to him."

"Shh," she said. "Did you hear that?"

Beneath the drone of the music, a quite audible conversation could be heard.

Jet started it.

"I think this is the best school dance I've ever been to," he observed.

"As far as I can tell, It's the _only_ school dance you've ever been to..." Mark replied.

"Well, I'll do anything to impress Mouche - she's totally hot. But I don't understand why you're not dancing."

"Perhaps it has something to do with you monopolizing the _only_ hot girl in the entire room."

"Are you serious? The women of Sunrise High are known for their...special qualities. Why don't you get together with her friend?

"What, you think she's hot?

"Sure, have you seen her in rehearsal? She's smoking"..."

"You hooked up with the only girl in the room I would describe as smokin'. To be honest, I just don't find her friend that attractive..."

I spluttered into my punch as Mark said this. I was standing right behind him but he didn't seem to realize and I have to admit, though his comments were hurtful, they were truly compelling...

He continued, "I mean, she's pretty enough, sure, but I just don't think I like girls who are that outspoken and rude and she's such a show off at rehearsals."

"Well, she does have the leading role."

"She doesn't seem like a leading lady to me."

"I think she's quietly confident - not really as outgoing as Mouche but I like girls who speak their mind."

"You might call it confidence, but where I come from ...well, we just call it common...she has shopgirl manners!"

"Shopgirl manners! I'm way proud to have worked part-time at a clothing store since I turned fifteen. I hated that I had to stop after summer to concentrate on my studies. And how could I be labelled "pushy" just because I scored the lead role in the school play? I mean, after all, I am a drama major. He should have been so lucky to dance with me. I could have at least taught him the steps," I whispered to Mouche.

Determined not to let him see me cry, I flounced past him with a slight smile on my face. He'd offended me to the core. Mouche followed me outside.

"A movie rejection, a mugging and being called "common" (I intended to google the term when I got home) plus a date rejection, all in the space of a month, is almost too much for me to bear."

I burst into tears on the pavement outside the auditorium.

"Here," Mouche said, handing me a clean tissue.

I think maybe Joel was standing near enough, holding hands with one of his girlfriends, to hear.

"I have certainly been brought low in my own little world and I'd gone to so much trouble to dress up and hold my tongue and do all the rules on our stupid list," I told my friend.

Mouche looked at me. Horror and embarrassment filled her eyes. Although I looked Mark in the eyes as I passed him and he looked embarrassed when he realized I'd heard, he didn't turn away.

"It's like he was missing a sensitivity gene," I told Mouche.

"C'mon," Mouche said. "Let's just leave. I don't want to go to their stupid post-fling bash anyway. Who ever heard of such a lame idea? Some boys think they are so entitled. It's time girls took a stand."

Mr Frames was standing at the school gate as we left, chatting to the future Mrs Frames who was also checking IDs. He was about to ask her to slow dance in the moonlight and I was really glad we were leaving now that we were surrounded by all this lovey-doveyness.

"Something wrong, girls?" Miss Love asked.

Mr Frames added, "You are both looking extra nice. Why are you leaving so soon?"

"We just need to get home early to...babysit my little sister," Mouche replied.

"Couldn't your mother do that?"

"Probably," Mouche added making us both sound slightly stupid.

"We gotta go," I said.

Mrs Mouche always made sure we had enough money for a cab but just as Mouche was dialling the number on her cell, we noticed someone tall and dark-haired walking out from under the entrance street lights. It was Joel.

"Hey, Phoebe," he said, "where to so soon?"

"Home," I said, wiping my cheeks. I was grateful he pretended not to notice.

"This is not exactly our idea of a rockin' time," Mouche added sarcastically. We could see Jet and Mark walking out to the top of the driveway wondering where we'd gone. Jet had been oblivious to the overheard conversation but Mark had noticed me as I fled. He could fill Jet in on all the details.

"You so shouldn't be smoking, Joel. It's bad for your lungs." Mouche added.

"So is incorrect grammar, apparently," Joel replied. "Phoebe taught me that."

"Very funny," I said. Then I looked at him with scorn and derision but he didn't seem at all offended.

"I have younger sisters," he said. "I know how cruel girls can be."

"Not just girls," Mouche said.

"Sounds like you both had a bad night."

"You could say that."

"Well, I'm at your service ladies. Unless you have a better offer," Joel said with a vitriolic intonation as Mark and Jet stood atop the hill like statues.

"We have no plans for the rest of the evening," I said.

"Mmm...We can change that. I was thinking of leaving early anyway."

"Really?" I said. "Well, that's okay. We were going to take a cab..."

"That'd be great," Mouche interrupted.

So we piled into Joel's mom's old station wagon and sped off as Mark and Jet wandered out of the school gate looking for their manners.

We stopped off at the only hangout still open in Sunrise after 9pm – the _Sunrise_ _Cafe _which was on the corner of Main and West Streets in the centre of the town square_. _Joel knew the waitress because he worked there and gave her a tip in return for the best booth in the place overlooking Sunrise library. When we ordered she looked around for the manager (he was absent) and said, "On the house," and Joel gave her a wicked smile.

When we were seated, Joel told Mouche and me how much he'd taken to reading "all the classics lately," and, "all the stuff on the senior English class list – I couldn't have done it without Phoebe's help," he beamed.

"And Tory's and Brooke's," Mouche added under her breath. It was still only nine-thirty, so we had plenty of time to eat and go home. Mouche texted our moms just in case they were worried. It turned out after a late game of cards the "boys" were going home and "could we please be quiet when we arrived so as not to wake Wednesday?"

We'd have a lot to tell Trish and Mrs Mouche the next day because the night hadn't exactly gone to plan.

"We had plenty to write about in the dating diary, that's for sure," Mouche whispered optimistically, after we'd ordered.

When Mouche got up to "play a song on the old-fashioned juke box" Joel took my hand which I thought was a little bit bold and said, "So, what's with your dates for the evening?"

I pulled my hand back.

"Oh, Jet and Mark weren't really our "dates." We were just together as a group – sort of."

"That's good because I'm not really Mark's hugest fan."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, my mom used to work for his dad's company and his father ripped her off, then gave her the sack. We were homeless and had to live in our car for a few weeks because his family behaved so badly."

"That's terrible. No wonder you've had trouble staying in school."

"Well, my brother, who's three years older than me, left home and went to live with our father in New York. You know, I could blame my family's break-up on the whole business fiasco with the Knightlys. They really treated my mom harshly. It was kind of a shame because Mark and I grew up together. My parents ran the office of their company in Bristol for a while. His Dad was my Godfather."

"Really? That's amazing. So, you're from England?"

"Kind of, I mean, I wasn't born there, but my family is from Europe so we lived there for a few years. My Dad is Croatian but we're American citizens now."

"Wow," I said. "Must be why your accent's weird sometimes..." Mouche added.

"Mouche, don't be rude." I whispered.

"No offence intended. Hey, what happened to your dates?" Mouche asked.

"They got a better offer," Joel replied.

"Oh," Mouche replied.

"So how's Petra?" Joel asked me, changing the subject.

"Petra?"

"Yeah, Mark's sister, we all used to be friends until Mark got his head up his..."

At that point Mouche came back to our booth and the music started playing.

It was some slow dance of a song that Mouche liked.

After our food arrived, and since Joel ate quickly and Mouche didn't eat much at all because the dates had ended so badly, I was really happy when Joel held out his hand to both me and Mouche in a very debonair manner and said, "anyone wanna dance?"

Mouche looked over at me.

"Sure."

"Okay", Mouche said, jumping up. The waitress started clearing the tables as the last of the customers left. Even the chef pulled off his chef's apron and joined us as the juke box played one of my mom's favorite songs from years ago. We all danced for a few minutes in the half-light and then the chef started closing up the shop for the night.

"Uh, oh," the chef said, as he opened the door to let us out only to find a huge bundle of what looked like old clothes in a garbage bag on the doorstep.

"What's that?"

"It's for the Sunrise goodwill shelter, right next door. For some reason the stuff is always left at the wrong address."

I shivered. It was late and getting cold. Tonight hadn't been at all what I expected.

"Here," the chef said. He was young and smelt like food.

The chef handed me a black sweater, in good condition, just like the one we wanted; the one on our list.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, take it. No one will miss it and it'll keep you warm."

"Thanks." His hands were freezing cold when he gave it to me. I remembered my grandmother once described a good person as having, "cold hands and a warm heart."


	14. Apologies and Whispers Chapter 14

_**Chapter 14**_

_**Apologies and Whispers **_

The year was half over. Mouche and I had not really been on any successful dates, and the treasure chest prizes all came about in unexpected ways. We didn't mind. The "treasure" was all part of the game. We stopped being so strict about how we obtained the items, which resulted in multiple sweaters and pens hoarded in a spare locker awaiting transfer to the real chest in Mouche's room. We could sort out what we needed at a later date. I hand washed, dried and ironed the black sweater and sewed a row of sparkling sequins around the edge. It would be perfect for New York.

When we arrived back at school the following Monday it seemed obvious that Jet had hooked up with Teegan after we left. We also noticed Tory had her hand hooked firmly into the pocket of Mark's jeans as they all walked down the hallway together.

"Men can be dogs," Mouche whispered.

I ignored the foursome, but I felt Mark's stare in the small of my back as Mouche and I walked past them.

"Hey, Phoebe..." Mark said as I passed him, trying to disassociate himself from Tory.

Mark tried to talk to me again during study hall and then at rehearsals but I ignored him. Later, we had dance rehearsal for the part of the play with the musical interlude. I was huddled in the corner of the theatre.

"Now I'd like Phoebe to hold hands with...Mark, can you stand in for Peter?"

"Help me," I said under my breath when Mr Sparks tried to pair us up. I stood about as far away from Mark as possible. I looked in his direction only when I couldn't avoid it.

Exasperated, Mr Sparks declared, "I have an announcement to make. Since Peter injured his foot on the weekend, Mark will stand in for him at rehearsals. He should be fine in a few days."

I groaned inwardly. Mark had gone from hero to zero all in the space of a week, in my opinion. A tiny bit of Mouche's pragmatism had entered my world. It was like I couldn't be light-hearted anymore.

"I may have had my pride badly injured but I am determined not to let the seriously haughty Mark Knightly get to me," I told Mouche.

"Mark's behaviour puts them both under the microscope," Mouche said, glancing at Jet.

We rehearsed scene three, then during the dance number, Mr Sparks tried to make us touch hands again.

"Enough already!" I announced, stealing Mouche's favorite line. I broke away from Mark. Peter barked, "Stop" to Ethan Mandel in his stage manager voice, giving the order from a chair to start again. I sighed and even Mark noticed (how could he miss) that I was so over him.

"There is no way I am dancing with the _understudy_," I said loudly to Mouche after Mr Sparks decided Mark and I should dance together since he was the only one left over (Mark had been hiding out in the lighting box trying to avoid his understudy duties). He towered over me, like I told you, and it was easy to avoid his eyes.

"There is nothing in the world that could inspire me to touch his hand," I added in a hoarse whisper. "In fact, I'd rather not be in the dance number at all."

Besides, I had my soliloquy to practice and there was no way he was going to succeed in putting me off my lines.

"Drama queen," Mr Sparks added under his breath, "while Miss Phoebe-the-Star has her own personal tantrum we'll just continue with Act Two and come back to the dance scene tomorrow – oh and you two are definitely partners. The tension will create chemistry. You'll just have to find a way to stop acting like children, start acting like young adults and make it work. Remember, it's for extra credit."

"And Mouche, you have to at least _pretend_ you like Jet in the dance sequence. The play is the thing, Mouche. What will Julliard say if I write on your transcripts, "not a team player?"

"I'm going to NYU or Yale, Mr Sparks."

Mr Sparks looked surprised.

"But Mouche, you might waste your talent. You have a God-given gift."

"I'm going to be a lawyer, Mr Sparks. I want to help people and earn lots of money."

"Ah the evils of finance!"

Mr Sparks had a point, though - blackmail. It usually worked.

Mark was looking very sheepish by now. I wondered when he'd grow up to behave like a man and have something to say for himself. Perhaps my expectations had been too high all along.

Then Jet started flirting with Mouche without her realizing it and meanwhile Teegan flirted with Mark without knowing she probably shouldn't be if she wanted his undying devotion. I stood my ground. When Mr Sparks called "ten minutes everybody," I left the room to find Joel. I think I needed a distraction.

Joel was in study hall when we were in rehearsal and we found reasons to meet up more than usual now. Was it possible we'd even started to become friends? He'd started talking to me a lot more ever since the night he dropped Mouche and me home. Suddenly the prospect of dating him seemed tempting. So, when he texted me to meet up with him for "a mental health break", I was kind of glad. I didn't even mind being texted at the last minute since we weren't dating and I wanted an excuse to avoid the peeps at rehearsal. Plus, Mouche was working on costumes.

Thoughts of teenage romance were superseded by the possibility of our friendship. I studied Joel as he walked towards me carrying his guitar. Would dating a true man-slut ever really be a good idea? It seemed like our friendship was doomed from the start. I know what Mrs Jones would say: _"men and women can never be friends; the possibility of romance always gets in the way. Avoid Romeos like the plague. Man-sluts will always play the field and one woman will never be enough to satisfy their lust for female attention and popularity..."_

"Hey Joel."

"Hey, Phoebe," he said casually when we met up at the intersection of school hallways.

Words were unnecessary. Joel was on a break from detention again and I was obviously not enjoying rehearsal. I was impressed with his musical interests, though. He'd just released a single on his website but was too cool to ever appear in the school play.

We sat together near the vending machine while Joel tuned his guitar and ninth graders stopped to shyly ask him for his autograph. After they left, we considered silently where the day had taken us. Before Joel finished d his drink, he gave me a suggestive little grin and said, "okay, gotta motor, see ya later..."

I put Joel out of my mind and began thinking about Mark as I wandered back to the auditorium. I felt like I needed to lick my wounds and take a break from the game. Even if Mark and I were never meant to be, I was glad to finally be standing up for myself, going with the moment, so to speak. I'd previously stood off stage in my own shadow. If Mark hadn't dissed me, I'd never have possessed the courage to disrespect him in public. But then, I'd never have needed to. I was beginning to enjoy annoying him. Just mentioning Joel's name seemed to make Mark flinch.

Before I left rehearsals that day, he came up to me and said, "I didn't know you were friends with Joel Goodman."

"Well, I tutor him," I said hesitantly, "not that it's any of your business." I was so angry I'd spoken to him directly but he caught me unawares. I thought Mark deserved the silent treatment a little longer but he had forced my hand.

"Oh."

"Besides, It's nothing to you how I spend my after-rehearsal hours."

"I know, I didn't mean anything by my comments. It's just that I don't think he..."

"He's already told me about you and what your family did to him. You really don't need to elaborate."

I turned and flounced off leaving Mark totally gobsmacked.

So that was the state of our boy-rating plan by November, the month of the play. Teegan and Freya and Brooke and Tory had been hunting around open lockers and portals of blogs and discarded pages of _The Sunrise News_ (ones that they'd even contributed to) searching for the missing parts of a puzzle they felt sure were somehow important to them, but they couldn't quite put all the pieces together. They'd noticed we dressed sharply and boys talked a lot more to us, boys they'd once envisaged being more interested in them.

They had confronted us recently inside the girl's changing rooms.

"We need to talk," Teegan said. "Soon."

"We'll schedule a meeting," Mouche said. "How's next week?"

"Fine."

"Perfect."

Teegan had no idea what we had in mind.

"Better to keep them wondering for as long as it takes us to decide exactly how to play this," Mouche said.

Our dating diary was filled with all the tiny mishaps and possibilities of the previous months. We didn't want to let them know more than was necessary.

Way back at the beginning, we counted the note from rehearsal week one as a love letter. And we included the diagram of a movie set. Matt sketched it on a script at my audition (I found it discarded in the wastepaper basket) along with the word _Star_. We included it because the little house made of squares and circles and triangles and a few scribbles was meant to represent the ocean at Venice Beach where he was telling the other casting assistant he once lived. We think that vision is one we aspire to even if dating Matt never really happened. _Star _is a word that we love and the beach is a place we both like. So you could say we've learnt to take the good from every mishap; and write it all down. We can learn from it.

Of course it had been a busy time, what with Mouche studying and working on the costumes for _Rocco and Julie _and her dancing perfection. Meanwhile, Mark noticed neither of us were very friendly towards him. Though he was once on top of our list, he was now at the bottom, especially as he appeared to be letting Teegan (who was all over him like a rash) flirt with him. But we could have told her she 'd have problems reeling in the catch. Teegan was pawing his arm, fawning over him and making him "special" lunches, but you could tell it was just making him more uncomfortable.

Jet was busy ignoring Mouche after she stopped talking to him because Mark had insulted her friend (me) which was very loyal of her. "Besides," Mouche said, "I've totally moved on."

And her dancing? It was spectacular! I caught Mark watching us both practice our solos from backstage, with more than a spark of interest.

Then there were Mouche's designs for the play which were so gorgeous even Ethan Mandel commented on their gloriousness. Maybe that's because I'd caught him trying to kiss Mouche behind the stage curtains one afternoon. Love had given him extra incentive to be sweeter and more enthusiastic.

Mouche got some ideas for the play the day we took Wednesday to the local vintage store for research on the costumes of the punk era. We also went online. There were some amazing photographs of punks and clothes from the 80s all over the web. We also had the Trish and Mrs Mouche family photograph albums for historical reference. Mrs Mouche's family were from the South originally and full of old Southern traditions. For example, manners were big way back then and being "ladylike" was held in high regard. "Please" and "thank you" were important words. Perhaps some of the boys could learn that – especially Mark. Our mothers held tea parties when they were our age instead of nasty girl gossip fests. All very civilized.

Our moms told us, "we could never discuss anything with our mothers, we are so lucky we have you girls for advice, to set us straight."

Wednesday clapped her hands in approval, "wet us wait," she repeated in her cute baby voice.

Someone else who needed to be set straight was Mark, but it seemed the opposite was occurring.

Although the scheduled meeting with the Princesses had distracted us, it was with sheer disbelief that I discovered a note from Mark one day in my locker.

"What took him so long?" Mouche asked.

It was, I suppose, a letter of apology because Mouche had told Tory who'd told Jet who'd told Teegan who'd told Mark that I was ignoring him because I'd heard him dissing me at the Fall Fling. I promptly stuck the note in the glory box guide, after passing it to Mouche to read.

The letter was surprisingly humble. It read:

_Dear Phoebe_

_I just wanted to write to say I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings at the Fall Fling. I was having a bad evening. I was worried about my sister, Petra, and I said some things I shouldn't have. I didn't want people to think I liked you. For what It's worth, I think you are a really good actress and perhaps it is me who is lacking in social etiquette, not you._

_My apologies _

_Mark Knightly_

"Mmm. Quite the backhanded apology," Mouche said, obviously shocked.

He, "_didn't want people to think he liked me_?" What was wrong with liking me? I wondered.

"What an arrogant nightmare. I'm glad to be rid of him." I said.

"Still, it was quite unexpected. From another era even," Mouche replied.

"Perhaps the Neolithic one," I added.

I stuck the note straight in the _Boy-Rating Diary_ under the heading _Phoebe's_ _love letters_. Pleased with my work, I highlighted the headings with glitter glue, "I think that almost counts, don't you?"

Mouche laughed and said, "I think It's kind of beautiful; an apology, even if it was poorly worded. Maybe we're too young to have hearts of stone."

Meanwhile, the hole in the brick wall between our houses had grown bigger because our locker was one third full and our little treasure chest was filling up with items and secrets.

For a week or so, the dating game took a back seat as study and school life and the general business that became a game of dodging Princesses (before the meeting) took over. Mouche and I, after our initial surge in popularity, struggled with how to proceed.

We had a page about all the boys on our list, and had put off the "secret meeting" with the Princesses for as long as possible.

Trish and Mrs Mouche's first post-break-up dates were successful enough to encourage them to start dating properly again, but nothing memorable had happened for them in the form of love letters, or anything else (except dinners).

In the meantime, both of our moms were on vacation for a week and during that time they threw themselves into self-care (manicures, hairdressers, deep tissue massages) and mothering which we admired.

Trish began to cook again using her mother's recipes. Together we had mother / daughter meals which were both memorable and delicious. Mrs Mouche even invited Martin around to share in the meal as a return for the night he took her bowling and let her win. He had a son named Eli as it turned out who was two years younger than me and very studious. Eli seemed quite interested in being friends which was flattering, but he was too young to date, although quite the reader. In fact most of the boys on our list at Sunrise were such a mismatch for me, that I started wondering what it would be like to properly date Joel or Ethan or even Mark; the guys I'd initially been attracted to but who for obvious reasons, hadn't really worked out thus far.

Meanwhile, Mrs Mouche was dating an accountant from her work whom she'd decided was, "_boring boring boring,_ _but at least He's teaching me how to organise my taxes."_

_*Note to self: men who teach you something useful...especially about money and boy stuff (ie. mechanics) are good to know (because a lot of women don't know as much as they should and being unknowledgeable about money and cars leaves you open to financial abuse...). _That is a direct quote from Mrs Mouche.

In any case, work and socializing were keeping our _mommies who drink_ very busy these days. We were also indulging in a social whirl. Our moms were too pre-occupied to check up on us which was perfect because we hadn't really refined our dating game properly; and the best was definitely yet to come.


	15. Mattresses and Meetings Chapter 15

_**Chapter 15 **_

_**Mattresses and Meetings**_

Teegan, Tory, Brooke and Freya had been wracking their minds over the meaning of that one page of muddled notes they'd discovered weeks ago and the fact that we seemed, every now and then, to be juggling a list of men for possible dates in between our busy schedule of school, rehearsals and semi-professional auditioning activities.

Unbeknown to Mouche, I have to admit, I'd flirted with Trey. Unbeknown to either of us, I think Jet was beginning to like Mouche again (he'd glanced over at her in rehearsals more than once to see if she was noticing him) and maybe because of this or in spite of this, I was really noticing when Mark was noticing me. It was like the fact that I had ignored him peaked his interest. Then once (or was I imagining it?) he seemed to be watching Mouche's dance scene with more than professional interest. As if I cared. There were nine other men on my list.

Plus, although Tory was getting louder and pushier by the hour, I was still the lead character in the play. But I was offended and had a long memory (like an elephant's, my mother once said). My pride had been sorely injured by Mark's remarks at the dance, more than I cared to admit. Although the letter was nice, it took until the visit to Mark's house, many days later, for me to start seeing my tormentor in a different light.

In the meantime, I was becoming friendlier with Joel.

This seemed to hit the spot, Mark's sore spot. For some reason Mark just hated Joel, who, although friendly with multiple girls, always took extra time to say "hi", and hang out with me now. I knew he might be a bit unreliable to actually date but I was happy to become friends with him.

"You know, Phoebe, you are actually my first friend who is a girl," he said analytically, as we snacked on pretzels during my rehearsal break. We talked about lots of things, not just the novels we had to read for English, or his guitar solos. We talked about New York and how it is one of the most fantastic cities in the world.

Known only to Mark, Freya had offered (as the social secretary of junior year) to show him around Sunrise one weekend. It would have been totally against our original rules to make all the running, but Freya had a hot new car her father had bought for her birthday and wanted to show off _it_ and herself. I heard her tell Tory she had plans to be Mark's "special girlfriend". I'm not sure even Mark knew what that meant but Tory seemed momentarily put out.

Tory explained it (many weeks later) in the guide thus: _"In England, macking is called snogging, and since Mark had been in England for a year, he seemed to think dating was just hooking up and snogging. So when I suggested we hook up and go to the movies, Mark was, according to Jet who told Teegan who told Mouche who told me, "too polite to refuse." _

We all had a little laugh at that entry, especially me, and it seemed the days when I imagined Mark to be "the one" were long gone.

But I forgot to tell you how the Princesses got involved.

In the beginning, they all, rather cluelessly and obviously, tried to target Mark. We shuddered at their appalling lack of smarts in this area. He had them on speed dial and even more confused than he'd had Mouche and I. The other girls evidently needed our savvy.

Mark, the alpha male, was playing them.

"I don't understand why charms I've worked on countless pre-men seem to fall short with Mr _I love myself_ Knightly," Teegan complained.

Tory listened to Teegan's whining then relayed it to Brooke who told me.

"You won't believe it," Tory added, "but Teegs actually said to him after rehearsal one night when she was taking notes, _"your place or mine?_" when he offered her a lift. Anyway, he obviously didn't like her that much since he offered Phoebe and Mouche a lift also. Mouche said "yes" before Phoebe could say "no" because it was late at night and she thought it would be in their best interests to swallow their pride."

My ears burned at that one. It was true, I hadn't had a chance to say no, but we were not in a position to refuse. Trey had borrowed Mouche's car (his was at the local garage) and I didn't have one. Trey's cell was on answer which really annoyed both Mouche and me, because we have a rule to never walk home alone in the dark.

"I'll talk to Trey about that later," Mouche promised, as if she was the parent and Trey, the child.

After Mark had slighted me, Mouche had considered spreading the rumor that he was a man-slut but then we mutually decided that this would just enhance his reputation and make us sound bitter. We were more amused watching the Princesses fail to make headway in the dating game with him, one by one.

"Sometimes it's best to let bygones be bygones," my grandmother always used to say which I suppose means, forget about past hurts. So I left the idea of Mark as "the perfect boyfriend" alone, where it ought to be, and just got on with my life. Then the Princesses lives entwined with ours in the most obvious way.

We're not sure how far Mark and Freya went after he dropped Mouche and I off that night after rehearsal, but the next day Brooke and Teegan and Tory were seen huddling around a crying Freya who was whining something about, _"he kissed me and everything but now I don't think he even likes me. How could he not like me? I'm the smartest, funniest, coolest girl in the school!" _

"Ah, that would be a matter of opinion, Freya," Mouche uttered under her breath. But this time I was glad that nobody heard because Freya was visibly distressed.

You could see the confidence draining out of Freya and her Princess sisters on a daily basis and I felt a little uncool that I couldn't give them advice. Why did girls let boys affect their self-esteem this way? It was lucky I loved the stage and Mouche loved to dance. These loves gave us a lot more to focus on than boys.

"Perhaps we should share the benefit of our research," I suggested that day, thumbing through the last of my dating guides, _The Good Girlfriend (_a gem of a tome), written by anonymous_._

"Oh please," Mouche said, "they'd only listen if it was wrapped in pink paper and tied with a ribbon."

"It is," I said, tapping our half-filled Boy Rating Diary.

The Princesses were all having a pity party for one another because nobody else would bother to have any kind of party for the nastiest girls in school.

What we do know for sure - Mark was definitely _not _saving himself for marriage or true love or any of that because he was spotted reading _Lolita_ in the town library - quite the scandal around here.

Mouche noticed it when she was researching a legal case for part-time work she does at a homeless shelter in LA once a month. In fact, I'd say Mark may have taken Freya up on her offer and now maybe both of them regret it. At least, that's what I'd say.

It was kind of sad actually - their little love fest gone wrong. Last night at rehearsals, Freya was giving Mark soppy puppy dog looks and he was just totally ignoring her in his snobbish, uptight way. I could have told her he was a mean, proud, nasty person but she didn't ask. I'd never advise Freya, willingly. Besides, Mark was clearly the target; He's supposed to be the date at the _end,_ the best date, and now I doubt I will ever speak to him again since He's clearly the most conceited boy in school. Well, who wants some stuffy old castle in Scotland anyway?

"I've mentally moved on," I assured Mouche.

But I should tell you what happened with Mouche and Jet. She wrote about it in the dating diary:

_Mouche: "Jet and I got so friendly that we dated more than once. We went roller skating, then he took me to dinner and a movie and drove me right to my front door in his seriously hot sports car. He opened doors and paid for everything and the most he even tried was to hold my hand. Then, on the third date, Jet got cold feet and told Scott Williamson to tell Phoebe at rehearsals to tell me that he couldn't meet up with me that weekend because he "had to go with Mark and his sister and their aunt and uncle for a skiing holiday in Telluride..."_

"_Telluride! That's a lame excuse", Phoebe said. _

"_I agree. I mean, I'm not the best or most experienced skier in the world, but if he was going to abruptly change plans, then he could've at least invited me or told me himself." _

_I drew a line through him on the list and spent an entire Saturday crying. After I'd dried my eyes, I gathered Wednesday to me and said to Pheebs, "I do solemnly swear that I will never get my heart broken ever again." _

It was many weeks later before we found out what really happened.

Wednesday tugged at Mouche's hair, attempting to braid it in a sisterly fashion.

"He's no loss if he will do that to you without a proper explanation," I offered.

"This," Mouche said, "is the first and last time I will ever cry over a man."

"He's so not worth it, I said.

"Not worth it," Wednesday agreed.

"And neither is his proud, superior friend." I couldn't even say Mark's name by this point.

At rehearsal, Mark Knightly was standing near me when Peter came over to chat.

Peter winked at Mark and Mark ignored us both.

"Actually, he looked kind of sheepish...Mark's a weird guy."

"Maybe not so much..." Mouche observed. "It's true that he hurt your pride and he was wrong to do it, and wrong about you, but at least he didn't pretend to like you then ditch you like Jet did to me. I genuinely think he was just trying to cover up how he felt. Perhaps he has his own reasons for his strange behaviour. He seems to have better qualities than some of the boys at Sunrise. At least he has a level of maturity and says what he thinks."

"Thanks."

"Well, he was too quick to judge, but then so were we. I mean, look how wrong we got it. We actually thought Jet was Mr Nice Guy."

Even in the throes of her own misery, I started to feel like Mouche was getting the better of me again.

That evening, we conversed in my room, "I've heard in Europe, people aren't at all particular about whom they sleep with. Maybe that's when Mark became a man-slut."

"Maybe," Mouche just shrugged and flicked on a repeat of episode of some teen reality programme_. _

"I'm so over this show," she said. "The only thing to do when you've been ditched is to eat an entire box of chocolates."

"At least...you didn't do it with Jet or anything. I mean, it's not like you went that far..."

"I'm destined to be the only sixteen year old in Sunrise who hasn't even been stage-kissed more than twice," Mouche said.

"Ah, that would be me, also." I must admit I was shocked at Mouche's revelation of her entire lack of love experience. I thought surely she 'd kissed Ethan Mandel. I tried to cheer her up, adding, "Well, maybe, that's a good thing. I mean, whatever happened with Freya certainly didn't make her happy. Maybe we're too young for relationship drama."

Mouche just started crying all over again.

Anyway, a few days later (the last week of October to be precise) another note arrived, attached to the revised script breakdown, _Act One page 9. _ At first, I thought it was a note from Jet, because it had Mouche's name on it and I immediately walked over to Mouche, who was taking a break from rehearsing the opening dance number and handed it to her.

"Maybe this is the formal apology...it could be from him."

"Jet?"

"I don't know, maybe."

"Perhaps I should forgive him for standing me up."

"That's not in the rules. Don't you have any pride? I'm sure _Mrs Robinson_ would deem our interest in _men who have already disrespected us as_ "_unforgivable"_. We have to be better than that."

"Here."

"What?"

"You take it, open it."

Mouche unfolded the entire piece of notepaper.

"You must've had it wrong the first time. It says, "_Phoebe_ and Mouche._"_

"Maybe he wants to double..."

"This might be out of our league...here, you open it."

I do as I'm told. Everyone is on morning break and huddled around in groups but I'm sure I noticed the evil glances of the Princesses in our direction because this is what the note said;

_We know what you're up to...we want in on the competition or we'll tell everyone what a pair of Skeezie hoes you both are...dating "boyzamples" and acting like mattresses etc. Love Teegan, Tory, Brooke and Freya xxx_

"Mattresses!" Mouche exclaimed.

We'd show them mattresses.

Mouche excitedly grabbed the most recent set of notes right out of my hand and said, with a slight glimmer in her eye, "just let me consolidate what we need for the meeting..."


	16. An Unexpected Kiss Chapter 16

_**Chapter 16**_

_**An Unexpected Kiss **_

The day before the scheduled meeting, something truly unexpected happened which made me question my devotion to Mark.

It had been a long afternoon of rehearsing and I left the auditorium to water my parched throat. Outside, I encountered the adorable Joel Goodman again.

He grunted "hello" with a confident smile as he walked down the empty hallway past me. Joel had been kept back a year, after his parents "home schooled" him. They travelled through Europe, like gypsies, after their connection to Mark's parents went bust. Joel's wild, black hair was all spiky from some hairdressing show and his rangy, blue jeaned hips had a studded belt around them. His sister (who was a model agent) paid him three hundred dollars to slum it in an LA show the previous week because she 'd had trouble finding extra "young, dangerous types." She could've asked Mark and Jet as well. Their combined attitudes would have been perfect for the catwalk.

At least that's what Brooke whispered to Freya who told Teegan who told Mouche who told me. Joel got whispered about a lot. He was considered hot but a little dangerous and I was secretly thrilled that our relationship had developed from monosyllabic to the next level - basic conversation and meeting up during rehearsal and detention "time-outs".

We'd become friends but so far I'd never involved him in the _Boy-Rating Diary. _

Without realizing it, I had been letting Joel hang out with me when what I really should have been doing (maybe) was dating him, even if _Mrs Jones_ dictated his unsuitability. He was kind of bad. I didn't have to ask Joel what he was doing here in the hallway again. I knew.

Joel had been suspended. His jeans hung low and you could see the top of his boxers and the bottom of his ripped torso peeping out from beneath his plaid shirt. His muscular arms carried a more than usually heavy bag, full of the contents of his locker.

We paused at the drink vending machine. Suddenly he stopped and turned around to acknowledge me.

"Hey, Tuesday Girl..."

As I told you, he was kind of smart. It's just that, as punishment for attempting to take a photograph up Miss Holland's skirt (Miss H was our music teacher), he'd been assigned to hang out with a different "high achieving" student every day for a month during ninth grade. After that, he got the "dangerous" rep. Today, the rumor about Joel's suspension (for setting off the school smoke alarms "unintentionally"), had been posted on the Princess's webpage. Thereafter it had multiplied like swine flu. I was not completely unaware.

"Hey Pheebs...come here, there's something I wanted to say to you before I go on vacation..."

"You can say it from there..."

"Why, because I'm such a bad influence you have to keep your distance?"

"Of course not," the truth was, I admired his reckless abandon.

I moved forward but not too close.

He stopped and looked at me like I was soda in a fountain. He paused momentarily, then spoke.

"You were my favorite," he said in a deeper than teenage rebel voice.

"Your favorite what?"

"Day of the week. We usually met on Tuesdays."

This gave me an idea.

"Mmm...Can you put that in writing?"

"Eager to please the lady..." he said with a smile. Joel pulled out a docket or something from his pocket and wrote:

To Phoebe (Tuesday) Harris; you are my favorite day of the week, luv Joel.

I stopped feeding coins into the slot and shoved the note into my pocket. I was feeling all hot and sweaty from dance rehearsals and not _looking my best to greet a man_ as per the guides I now read obsessively, but exceptions must be made and I wasn't expecting this. I stood my ground and faced him.

"Why are you carrying such a big bag? You don't have, like, a _body_ in there do you?"

He laughed and lit a cigarette.

"No. Want one?"

"It's illegal to smoke at school. Besides, it's bad for you."

He stubbed it out.

"I just gave up. I'm celebrating."

"What are you celebrating?"

"I'm going to New York."

"What? You mean you're dropping out of school?"

"Yep. For two whole weeks. I got suspended but I don't think I want to come back, anyways..."

"Wow...I don't know if that's something to celebrate.." then I forgot the _Mrs Jones Guide_ and just said what I thought, "...that could be a really dumb idea...besides, I wasted loads of time checking your work."

"No time is wasted Phoebe Tuesday. Besides, I have an older brother there. I can catch up on _Wuthering Heights_ when I'm gone. Don't worry. I've never been to New York but it's got to be more interesting than here. I can't wait to go."

I couldn't wait to get out of Sunrise either. Maybe it had something to do with Mark.

"Me either," I said, trying to sound way cooler than I am. I leaned back on the door of the locker, "after the play is over, and I've graduated, I want to go to Julliard...if I get in." Joel smiled.

I gotta tell you being around him at that moment made me feel a little shy. This was starting to bother me. I was becoming the girl I was before I became the self-assured pre-woman I am.

"Well," I said, "break a leg in New York. The drink machine awaits..."

But before I could turn he leaned over and kissed me and the last thing I expected was to kiss him back, especially as he was all smoke-addled and I was sweaty.

Proof your love life can change in a second.

"I always wanted to do that..." he said. Then we heard the squeak of unoiled hinges and Mark walked out from behind a nearby locker. Trust Mark to ruin my day. He glanced at Joel knowingly, then turned around, and walked off in the opposite direction.

Joel smiled at me like the kiss hadn't meant a thing, said _"adios amigos"_ and left.

"_How rude,"_ I wrote in the diary that night and when I told Mouche she agreed. "They just love you and leave you. What's the point of that?" I started to cry. Mouche consoled me.

"This is so unexpected..."

"I know," Mouche said. "...but was it good?" she asked.

"Well, it would have been...if we hadn't been interrupted. It was _kind of_ special because it was the first real kiss I've ever had apart from my dozens of stage kisses, as you know, and most of them were with Peter Williamson..."

"Here, I have something for you. I found it backstage when I was going through the costume boxes."

"The vintage jeans...but don't I have to obtain them via a date?"

"_Obtaining items from so-called dates will not a self-determined woman make_...except maybe in France. So, I'm going to add that the rules of "obtaining items" can be amended as and when we see fit. I think the unexpected encounter you had with Joel can definitely count as a date and you just need a little help with the items. Anyway, these jeans are perfect for _treasure trove item_ _three._

We both tried them on. They were a little long for me but I just rolled them up.

I got to keep the guide that night. I sat up in my canopy bed like Pollyanna thinking about Joel and how best to describe what had happened. A little part of me was seriously annoyed. For ten minutes he'd taken me out of my triple threat Princess-hating world and taken me into the possibility of Loveland. And in Loveland, it seemed to me all the rules, the entire plan, went out the window. It's like that old disco record Mrs Mouche plays all the time when she's doing the vacuuming once a year.

Love was way complex.

But in the end, I kept it simple.

"Keep it simple sister," Wednesday was learning to say. I know because Mouche taught her and there is nothing funnier than a three year old with glitter face saying; "_keep it simple sister,"_ in a bluesy voice. Thom is just chomping at the bit to take her on at Starz; I think He's given up on Mouche and me, but what you really need in the biz is an agent who believes in you.

"No", I replied when Mouche asked me if I'd heard from Thom since the _Alien _audition, "I really need him to believe in me..." I whined a few seconds later.

"What you need is to believe in yourself," Mouche said. In any case, Thom wanted Wednesday to audition for a commercial that will be ongoing and set her up for life, financially (or at least for college), if she gets it.

"We shouldn't exploit her talents," Mouche said.

"But couldn't we ask your mom?"

"You know what she'll say," Mouche replied.

Somehow, Thom convinced us to take Wednesday to the open call the next day. Thom rang and rang until we relented and Mouche agreed to take Wednesday to her first _Kidz_ audition without telling her mother who, "didn't want anything to do with that exploitative business," now that she had her own career and love life back on track.

If Wednesday gets it, the commercial will set up her college fund. Then Mrs Mouche might be happy about it, and glad we arranged to take her. Besides we both love any excuse to drive to the heart of Los Angeles.

I was wiping sparkles and face paint off Wednesday's face.

"I want more," Wednesday said.

"No Wednesday. Kids wearing make-up look like little hussies. They want to see you looking natural!"

Wednesday was immediately put out and crossed her tiny arms and legs and snuggled up to Mouche.

"Okay," I said, finally deciding to use the curling tongs on Wednesday's hair. Mouche's mother had forbidden me to do this to Wednesday's golden baby locks long ago. But Mrs Mouche was away on a business conference and wouldn't be back until Sunday so I was in charge.

"Okay girls, I trust you," Mrs Mouche assured us as she flounced off the front porch, her suit freshly dry-cleaned, her make-up newly applied, her hair blow waved. Mrs Mouche was really a great role-model for young girls. She had lifted herself up from male and financial disaster.

"Out with the old and in with the new," Mrs Mouche always said.

Once she had left for the airport we were safely on our way.

"I hope this works out better for you than it did for me," I tell Wednesday.

The casting was in Santa Monica.

After we sat with Wednesday for the morning while they took her photo and listened to her say a few cute words, we had the whole afternoon to ourselves and we went to Third Street Promenade for lunch. Then we drove to Venice again and checked out the market stalls all afternoon.

"This is fun," Wednesday said, in full sentence. Mouche wiped ice-cream off her baby sister's face and smiled.

At home that evening, Wednesday slept deeply.

"She's exhausted," I said to Mouche.

"I know," Mouche said, "I hope we did the right thing."

"Of course we did," I told her.

"I can't wait to have children one day. Well, I mean, I'd like to get married first, and of course, I wouldn't plan on kids until I'm at least twenty or thirty."

I smiled. I knew Mouche would make a great mother.

"But not yet," I told her.

"No, not yet," Mouche joked.

"Now, getting back to the _Boy-Rating Diary_," I continued...

Of course I had to re-capture the story of the previous date as well as update the encounters section with the brief but slightly beautiful moment between Joel and me.

Mouche said she was too emotionally exhausted to re-live the episode with the Princesses or my speed date with Joel. Besides, she said, "I have a meeting to prepare for tomorrow...I have the best idea, the funniest idea in the whole world...we'll beat those skanks at their own game and get our dates sorted out in the process..."

I must admit, I was not one hundred percent sure what Mouche was up to, but she promised to brief me at 8am the next morning before school.

"Oh, and I have news to tell you regarding Jack Adams, film school tragic." Mouche said, brushing her teeth. "We've developed a mutual love for _All About Eve_ and things have progressed. We may even decide to go skating together if I can drag him away from his blue screen," Mouche said.

"I've only got my one interlude with Joel to write up and now He's skipped town just when we were on the verge of becoming epic."

We both laughed as I continued writing in the original Boy-Rating Diary.

"_This should have come at the end,"_ I wrote. "_I don't care about gathering stupid treasure chest items anyway, I never really did."_

When it was Mouche's turn to write up her chapter, she scribbled next to mine in pink fluoro; _"big mistake Pheebs, always keep your eyes on the prize and remember the rules of the game."_

But what were they?

Mouche seemed to be changing them as we went along and sometimes I wondered if she was telling the whole truth. I saw her flirting with Ethan Mandel whole days before she ever mentioned it in the boy rating notes under "_**Mouche's Boys: (sub-heading) Boys I've kissed this year.**_" It was getting a little bit confusing, for sure.

Then I stuck in the note with Joel's name on it and when I looked on the other side, where the tape met the paper, I noticed Joel had scrawled his number and his email, _**just in case**_, he wrote, _**you're in New York**_.


	17. Perfume Chapter 17

_**Chapter 17**_

_**Perfume**_

We'd all arranged to gather the day after we received Teegan's note. The Princesses waited for us in the park next to the mall near the picnic alcove opposite Sunrise High. It was as good a place as any, with a picturesque view of the town, not far from the lakes. In the distance you could see the gated community where Jet and Mark and the Princesses lived. The house of Mark's relatives (he resided with his aunt and uncle) was famous for its secluded opulence; it's tall, winding security fence. Instead of a duck pond, it was rumored his uncle, who was a wealthy businessman, had even installed a moat.

"A moat, like in one of those old fairy tales?" Brooke asked Jet.

"I guess," Jet told Brooke who told Teegan who told me.

"I heard there are two swans that swim around in it all day and sometimes they disappear for minutes at a time under the drawbridge!"

"The drawbridge?"

"It hides the dark and eerie swampland that inhabits the backyard! It's even rumoured that the actual house is haunted," Brooke said.

"I bet it's for security purposes," Freya added.

"The rumor?"

"No, the moat."

The house ("more like a mansion", Mouche commented, the first time she saw it) was quite the most opulent in Sunrise. It was built high in the Sunrise Hills, about a half-hour drive from the cul-de-sac Mouche and I inhabited. Of course, Jet lived next door to Mark but his house wasn't quite as lavish. Jet only had a pool and a tennis court but it was huge and grand and garish because his mother was a fashion designer and his dad a major shareholder of Sunrise Bank.

This possibly accounted for Jet's elevated status in his own mind, according to Teegan.

The first meeting had begun.

It was the second last day of the week and we didn't have rehearsals for _Rocco and Julie_ so nobody was actively squabbling. Mouche arrived with the hem of a costume hanging out of her tote; Teegan was not far behind, talking on her cell with her notes jutting out of her antique jeans. Freya paused by the gate to check her lip gloss. Brooke turned up a few minutes later painting her fingernails and Tory arrived...help us...with an open guide: the one we had discarded, the one Mouche and I loathed, The_ Good Girl's Guide: Behave Like A Man and Get What You Want_

Mouche looked worried, "Tory is not supposed to be seeking out her own subversive dating literature," she whispered to me under her breath.

Tory just smiled pleasantly and said, "I'm re-educating myself. I've seen what's happening with you two and I want to be knowledgeable as well..."

Mouche leaned over and said, "Well, there's no need for that, Tory. We've done the reading and we can tell you everything you need to know about our system..."

Teegan and Freya and Brooke and Tory all smiled and looked very relieved as we nibbled the delicious food in front of us.

A truce had been grudgingly entered into and we were all acting sisterly.

Freya even offered to help with the costumes and passed a skirt to Brooke who was attempting to gather a ruffle. Brooke held the hem and waited with baited breath on every word Mouche said. Mouche really had a way with monologues. When she spoke, people listened.

If we'd been of the generation that went to Girl Scouts when they were little, I'd say it was kind of like what I imagine a Girl Scout meeting to be like. Everyone brought something extra, apart from the obvious attitude; we brought extra food and extra smiles and extra humility to make the late afternoon seem more like a suburban picnic than a gossipy teenage girl fest.

Mouche brought cookies she 'd baked the previous night; I offered muffins in a pink cake tin that I'd made with pink frosting and white chocolate; Teegan brought a bag of non-fat chips ("because I don't cook, my mother says it's a waste of time, a woman needs to develop real skills") Tory laughed as she placed her basket of fruit on the table because she knew 'real skills' meant 'other skills' which meant 'bedroom skills'.

Mouche rolled her eyes because she was the chair of the meeting and it took a while for everyone to stop chatting.

Mouche began:

"I'd like to announce that Tory (who raised her hand) will be taking the minutes of this official meeting between us; a group of girls now to be known officially as the ex-HSYLs. Freya will be responsible for passing out snacks. And I would ask everyone to be as polite as possible whilst attending our official meeting. After that, I guess, all bets are off."

Brooke giggled. Tory chewed gum. Teegan rolled her eyes and Brooke searched for her misplaced contact lens and Bible just in case she needed to swear on something (in a good way). I'd noticed Brooke had become way more religious this week.

"Firstly, I'd just like to say, Mouche and I have been forced to unleash upon our small society, _The Plan_. And since we've had more secret dates this month than you all have had hot dinners, the plan obviously works.

But we are not evil girls and since we are all pre-women the time has come to declare a truce and forget past wrongs all of us may have caused each other..."

Teegan and Brooke looked magnanimously at me and Mouche, but Mouche understood the importance of straight-talking in the sales pitch and continued on...

"_The Plan_ is essentially a secret and if you (_you _meaning Phoebe, Teegan, Freya, Brooke and Tory) tell anyone else, it will be less of a girls club and all out war. Besides, I have to warn you, our plan for dangerous dating is _so good_ that if you tell anyone else, everyone will want to do it and there will be anarchy..."

Freya looked quite alarmed and Teegan mouthed, _"What's anarchy?_"

Brooke mouthed back with her cupie doll mouth, _"chaos, famine, destruction, the end of the world, dummy..."_

Mouche continued to talk whilst I flexed my ankles and pretended to look serious, "before we start on the topic of...Teegan's discovery... (Teegan beamed with pride) I'd like to thank everyone for arriving promptly..."

The meeting continued and everyone's face lit up after grievances about school, boys and clothes had been aired:

"I would now like to officially ask you all to join our Plan for _The Year of Dating Dangerously_. Please take the time to read it well and hide it even better. The meeting place is here; the guide book (Teegan presented a large blank faux-leather bound pink diary – empty – our original one was hidden safely). This diary will be kept at all times, in a common place; a group locker ostensibly used for sports and other sundry items but which shall now be referred to as "the secret locker" – spoilage (i.e. treasured gifts) from the dates can be kept there (we weren't too worried because we didn't think a new plan would bring any but of course, we'd underestimated the resolve of the overindulged, who would make it their mission to outdo us and especially each other...)

The girls in "our group" took the paper in silence and read it wistfully. This is what it said:

**RULES FOR THE YEAR OF DATING DANGEROUSLY**

A kiss is meaningless, remember the higher prize and use what you can to get it. Let everyone know you've staked your claim, including the object of your affection.

Romance is so yesterday, a date today is so different from a date in the sixties. Pre-men expect a casual hook up. So why should we care? Act like a guy and care as little as they do.

For the secret rules of this game "a date/ hook up" must consist of a beginning middle and end and all details have to be written up in the _Boy-Rating_ diary which is kept in a mutually hidden place. All secrets must be revealed in this guide. All secrets to all of us, all the time. At the end of the school year, if we all agree to go public with an _edited_ version, it can be uploaded onto a shared blog.

Proof: there needs to be proof of the date in the form of photographs for our treasure chest, gifts, love tokens (and especially red roses) as these are indicative of true love.

The girl needs to make every effort to impress the boy; after all, around here, any decent guy is a wanted commodity.

The ultimate love token comes in the form of a love letter. Whoever gets the most love letters and gets Mark Knightly to take her to the prom, wins the competition.

All details must be shared; contributions to be made by all parties, with an overview and progress report due on the last Friday of every month; meeting to re-convene here.

Any previously dated man must not enter our mutual place of work.

All resources have to be combined in our secret box (AKA "the Treasure Chest") to be bestowed upon the winner.

The Game shall remain a SECRET between the ex HSYLs even if and when we decide to involve other people in our game.

Brooke was the first to look up in awe.

"Uh, I'm not sure whether or not I agree with Rule One."

"Each to their own," Mouche replied. "Now, can we leave the discussion of the _Rules_ for later. This second sheet is vital..."

At that point we gave them a list of the original boyzamples but subverted the descriptions. So, for example, we said a boy without integrity (eg. Alex Miller) actually had loads of it and other boys who were total man sluts (eg. Ethan Mandel) were actually extremely gentlemanly on a date. You can imagine the rest.

The jaws of the Princesses dropped open when we handed them the list of collectible treasure hunt items(we'd made some more refined and others more general to account for the extra size of the "new" group).

"Isn't this a bit morally dubious?" Brooke asked. She 'd given up on her contacts and had begun cleaning her glasses with a napkin.

"Yes, isn't this like, _Diary of a Teenage Callgirl_?" Freya responded, her mouth twisting slightly in anticipation.

"Only if you think prostitution is wrong," Tory replied, her pretty but vacant face searching for the up side.

"I think it's definitely wrong...unless you love them," Teegan said, hinting at hidden depths previously unrevealed. "But I guess, shared knowledge of all these boy dates would really enhance our romantic futures..."

"_Diary of a Teenage Callgirl_...mmm...that's a really good title for a blog," Freya added with more creativity than I'd given her credit for.

"Listen up, girls. Here are the lists of items we want to gather in our treasure chest," Mouche handed out the sheets of printed paper with a sweet smile.

_**Treasure Hunt Items**_

_A pen (for writing up the guide)_

_Designer clothing_

_Designer perfume_

_The Perfect interview Shoes or boots in two sizes since we are all one of two sizes (convenient)_

_A golden bracelet (preferably eighteen carat or over)_

_A pair of Chanel sunglasses_

_A cashmere coat_

_A winter scarf_

_A diamond ring_

"How are we supposed to get all of this?" Brooke asked.

"That's the game," I said, "for those of us who don't have objections."

"Well, I think It's materialistic and wrong," Brooke added.

"Then don't play," Teegan said.

Brooke looked crushed until Mouche relented. After all Brooke now knew a version of the Plan so it seemed sensible to include her or she might spill the beans to the rest of the school and ruin everything.

"Okay, Brooke, you can still play just leave out the kissing and gathering of items..." Mouche said.

Teegan rolled her eyes, "geez Brooke, you've become so uptight. Like that's going to be any fun."

Brooke simply shrugged, "well, it's nice to be included."

"Fine. You work it out," Mouche replied.

"Since you're so smart, why don't you just tell us," Teegan suggested.

"It's all in there, read the fine print...we need to rely on our personal attributes to become self-made women." Tory added.

We also handed them a list of "helpful" dating quotes from discarded guides...

"It's all in the list," Freya replied, "...wow...you guys are _way_ knowledgeable."

"Meeting to re-convene at the end of next month. Be here or... be somewhere else," Mouche said in her offhand, jokey way; as if she was saying _be here or beware..._

Teegan, Freya, Brooke and Tory were delegated Adam, Alex, Tobias and Scott. They didn't seem too happy about it but each was prepared to try for specific research, love letters and possible items. We all decided after we'd had one more date a piece, to share items gained and lessons learned, then all bets were off to date Mark and bring him to the prom. Because both Mouche and I had decided he was a pretty disagreeable sort of fellow, we had no emotional investment in the dating process whatsoever; everything to win and nothing to lose. The Princesses, being even more materialistic (save perhaps Brooke) than ourselves, were sure to be better at scamming gifts from our prospective boyzamples and then we could just swoop in, and divvy up the spoils.

"Mmm...I have a question," Tory asked. "Would it be possible to change the bracelet to a charm bracelet? It might be easier to gather charms..."

The Princesses were already thinking on an entrepreneurial level. Perhaps their business minds were even keener than ours. We hadn't really planned on that. It seemed obvious that we would outsmart them, having access as it were, to prior information.

"Good idea," Teegan said. I must admit Mouche and I agreed. Our designated "dates" were Ethan and Josh, then all the boys on the list would have been "dated" and "rated". We could (in theory) swap them around and consolidate "items" and "love letters".

By the end of the school year we would announce the "winner." The winner, being in possession of better rules and extensive guides to dating, would of course be Mouche or myself (we could also halve the gifts – but the Princesses weren't aware of that fact. They thought we were all in it for ourselves after the initial date and rate).


	18. Dating and Rating Chapter 18

_**Chapter 18**_

_**Dating and Rating**_

We had never seen such previously non-studious girls open a guide to algebra, let alone a guide to dating. Suddenly they dispersed, armed with a list of personal targets and one defective (in my opinion) dating guide to source and memorize in the hope that greater knowledge could also lead to an embarrassment of riches for one very smart girl.

In the weeks that followed, Mouche and I and the Princesses conspired to date all the guys on the list. We consolidated pages of notes about those dates, and the Princesses were compelled to write "truthful stuff" (including updates and asides at the end of each chapter). Some of their ideas really needed to be shared and could only be more helpful than not. We modified our ideas to form, as well as the _Boy Rating Diary_, a box of "items useful in New York," which we called our "treasure chest." We also decided to form an online site for teenage girls that could well open us up to litigation (according to Mouche); but in the interests of free-speech would become known as the anonymous "buyer beware site" – how and what to avoid dating pre, post and during teen world – using our Sunrise High pre-men as prototypes. This final version of the jointly authored diary would be titled, "The Boy-Rating Blog."

If we were in love with any of the boys this expose might be a conflict of interest, as presumably none of them would ever want to speak to us again, but currently we were not concerned with love.

It was no secret that although I was yet to date Mark, he seemed to like Mouche. Jet seemed suddenly a little interested in me when Mouche all but ignored him and the Princesses were "otherwise engaged" writing bragaholic messages about all the guys on the list.

After a few days, the Princesses were making fools of themselves all over town and we had to amend the "kiss on the first date rule" because some of the Princesses were overly enthusiastic. We decided to intervene, call another meeting, and reveal the truth about rule one.

Teegan said, "What?"

Mouche said, "look, the truth is, we didn't expect you to take that one seriously. _Of course_ you shouldn't be all over these guys the first time you go out. It's like _introductory _dating for pity's sake. Hey, for all we care, don't sleep with them until you're _married_ – it might teach them a lesson."

"Yes, think how powerful women would be if they all kept their legs crossed until then," Brooke added, taking the concept to its righteous extreme.

"A lesson?" Freya said in awe and wonder.

"Yes," I repeated. "A lesson in who holds the power. If we all agree to _not _sleep with them, then they all have to do some serious wooing and smarten up their act!"

I say this like an English teacher and later Mouche commended me on my possible mooting and oratory skills.

"I couldn't have said it better myself," Mouche added. Meanwhile Jet was glancing longingly at her during rehearsal, but she seemed to be avoiding him again.

"November meeting is adjourned until after the play," Freya noted.

"All in favour say I."

We all said "I".

We re-convened to Teegan's family Lake House where everyone started discussing possible junior prom outfits. After the extra cupcakes had been stored in cake tins and a location for treasure finalized (a spare locker would be used until items could be transferred to our actual 'treasure chest'), Mouche and I made ourselves scarce.

Outside in Mouche's car, Mouche and I re-commenced the conversation started months ago, just between us, about the rules.

"When should we let them know about the rest of the rules?"

"Honestly? Let them learn themselves...make them do some research for a change."

"That shouldn't be a problem."

"Besides, we're not the "make out" police. We can't stop them from behaving like little tarts if they want to. We can only advise them. I feel our, let's just say _somewhat incorrect_ original advice in that regard, was a little beneath us."

"It could possibly undermine the plan."

"True, the plan was a little hazy."

It was going to be interesting. They had one of the major rules and we wanted to watch the power in the school halls and shop malls turn from the boys to the girls; for the second half of the year. Boys would have to do the running if they wanted any attention from the girls at all. And once all the girls had given them a good dose of their own medicine, the boys would have to make more of an effort.

Later that day Mouche met Ethan Mandel at the Sunrise cinema on the corner of Eighth and Ninth Avenues and took me along for the "date." Ethan brought along his friend Josh Klein (the artist) and everything started off well enough, although Ethan said hardly anything and his friend even less leaving us to sound either garrulous or stupid which is totally against our planned rules. But we got the business matters of the evening out of the way early when Mouche suggested a slight chill and both boys offered a scarf – very sweet and one just happened to be cherry cashmere and in perfect condition. Mouche said she 'd give it back at the end of the night but Ethan just said shyly, "oh, that's okay, it looks better on you anyway."

Top marks for generosity and another item for the treasure box found. Items gained thus far included:

_A pen_

_A lucky sweater_

_Vintage jeans_

_Gloves_

_A velvet beret_

_A scarf_

_And so many more yet to come..._

"C'est la vie," I said, practicing my French.

"Any extra items can be donated to the LA homeless shelter," Mouche added.

We walked into this tiny ramshackle cinema called; what a surprise, Sunrise Cinema. But it had the best popcorn and candy and Ethan bought loads for everyone which I thought was way generous of him.

Our first double date seemed to be going smoothly.

Money and generosity aren't everything although I suppose they're a start.

At one stage Ethan and I decided to go get more popcorn and snacks and we started talking (I'd offered to be the errand runner because I could tell the movie was becoming really scary). I was surprised when Ethan agreed to walk with me to the candy bar. He seemed to think it chivalrous to pay. Since making a good impression is particularly important on the first date, I let him. Boy-rating can be ruthless and boyzamples may not get second chances.

The weirdest thing was that he made mention of the "new guy at school," Mark, who just happened to be a distant cousin of his. "Oh, but our side of the family doesn't really speak to his. It's just that we do soccer practice together and we got talking last week," he said.

"Oh, really?" I replied.

_Well, what about?_ I wanted to ask, but bit my tongue instead, sensing that Ethan, with his retro haircut and dark under-eye circles but bright eyes (from all the extra DVD watching) would offer any further information of his own volition.

He continued, "After team practice, we all went out and Mark and I talked for the first time since we were children. He was really nice...although loads of people think he rates himself too highly."

"Mmm," I mused, he didn't have to tell me _which_ people.

"Girls can be like that," I said amiably.

Mouche and I are both very good at getting strangers to open up verbally. I could sense Ethan wanted to spill the beans. He continued, "Anyway, Mark seemed particularly pleased with himself that evening. I mean, he was really happy, the opposite of his friend, Jet, who is usually the easy going one."

Ethan said this like he was in some kind of 1990"s movie and I noticed his shirt was quite paisley. Brooke had told me once that his parents had been groovy hippies who'd had Ethan late and worked for some record company. Apparently, they sat around talking about San Francisco thirty years ago and drinking herbal tea a lot.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it seemed that Mark was congratulating himself on having convinced Jet to stay away from a particular girl who Jet was kind of into."

"Did he...mention the name of the girl?"

"No, only that she was a pretty blonde who went to our school..."

I immediately guessed it was Mouche.

Ethan was looking at me kind of quizzically. Smoothing my hands over my hair (I'd used the straightening iron on it before we came out), I instantly said, "Oh, my hair is really dark brown underneath the caramel highlights."

Did I say that? It's so not in any guide to discuss details of a girl's grooming habits. As _Mrs Robinson_ says, "_keep a little mystery_..._no man wants to hear how the portrait got painted..." _But at least Ethan is not actually my date.

I resumed my line of questioning...

"Did Mark say why Jet stopped liking this girl?"

"He seemed to think it would be a bad idea for Jet to involve himself with the one person, _limit his options_ so to speak, and maybe her family...didn't have any money."

"Well, maybe Mark should mind his own business."

"Maybe." Ethan said quizzically. He seemed to like the fact that he'd obviously got me on my high horse.

"And did the girl have any say in this?"

"It seems like _the girl_ had to find out the hard way. Jet stood her up...oh, I mean, he and Mark went skiing or something..."

I was livid, so angry I insisted on paying for my own popcorn, wondering if dating guys was really the answer to any of our teenage girl problems. I soon got over this worry of course.

Seated, I felt slightly numb and in a state of panic.

The film we were watching had some cute older-man candy. The leading actor was spending the whole movie trying to protect his girlfriend from these creepy people, way out in the woods. It was the scariest movie I've ever seen and Josh snuggled close which was kind of funny because I think he was more scared than I was during the scene where the strangers try to bash down the front door.

Ultimately, it was the most terrifying movie I've ever sat through and a good excuse for Josh to squeeze my hand; except, when I looked over in the dark, it wasn't Josh squeezing my hand, it was Ethan. Yikes.

Meanwhile, Mouche had gone to "take a call" on her cell.

Things were getting complicated.

I pulled my hand away. Ethan may be playing most of my solos but I had no idea he was this much of a cheater. Even if he had given me vital information about Mark I was still seething over when and how I might use it. He hardly made Jet and Mark seem like "ideal men," least of all himself, because he now seemed untrustworthy.

_Mrs Robinson's _ guide would say, _some boys are strong in the wrong places and weak at the wrong times. _Why hadn't Jet stood up for Mouche and why was Mark such a snob? What a hateful individual. I didn't think, even if he was so rich or so handsome, I could suffer another minute in his company.

That night I was too smart to write about what happened at the movies in the shared Boy-Rating Guide. But I did jot it down in the original, hidden one. I would explain to Mouche before she read it, after I'd let the news about Mark's duplicity sink in. In retrospect, I think this part of the story might have driven a wedge between me and Mouche before other events did. I hoped Josh didn't notice how annoyed I was after I'd spoken to Ethan. Josh was kind of a nice date.

Oh, I forgot to tell you, he heard (via Mouche) that we liked a particular brand of perfume that his mother sold called _Junior Miss18_ (it was faux French) and he presented me with a bottle of it as a welcome gift! I think Ethan thought it was funny because, although he offered to pay for the popcorn, he wasn't really that chivalrous.

Later at rehearsal the next week he told Mouche (who told me she "hadn't even kissed him") that he "wasn't a one woman man." I didn't have to warn Mouche because she 'd already gone off him with her eye on a bigger prize: winning the competition, and to do that, she 'd have to date more people than Ethan Mandel. She'd have to date Mark.


	19. A Proposal Chapter 19

_**Chapter 19**_

_**A proposal**_

The next day, I woke up, plugged in my headphones and started on the one physical activity I tried to do a few times a week, alone, jogging. To clear my head, I ran the track along the path that led from my house to the Sunrise lakes.

The main lake divided our neighborhood from the hidden homes of Jet and Mark and the Princesses who lived high on the hill overlooking the town of Sunrise itself. It was a Saturday and I was up early, preparing for my babysitting duties that afternoon. I still had half of Act Two to memorize and a paper to write for English on the traditional text of _Romeo and Juliet, _a prospect I wasn't joyfully anticipating.

I'd woken up feeling extremely angry, although I realized anger was a wasted emotion and I knew I should share my feelings with Mouche but my anger seemed to go beyond all articulation. I was going faster and faster (breaking a sweat known only to me during dance classes) when I rounded a corner. As the music blared loudly in my ears I ran face first into Mark Knightly, almost knocking myself out. He seemed to scoop me up very swiftly in his arms.

"Mark must have been very strong from all the swimming and riding and hunting..." Mouche said avidly as I relayed the story to her much later. "I hear back in England they kill animals for sport!"

"Not just in England," I said as I read Mouche's brochures for her charity of the week, the local Animal Protection Society. She was considering talking her mom into taking home a rescue dog which I thought was a very good idea.

But I continued, "Mark sat me down under one of the many oak trees that lined the path of the gardens that led down to the lakes..."

When I came to, he was leaning over me intently and my soon to be enraged eyes stared straight into his remarkably blue, surprisingly honest-looking ones. He was wearing a turtleneck sweater and jeans, even though I thought the day had been hotter than usual for this time of year. Too hot in fact. I edged apart from him very quickly, dazed and irate.

"Eww. Get off me," I said, when I collected my wits, even though he was only patting my shoulder as I was sitting hunched, against a tree."

"I'm sorry...we collided."

Always saying sorry went against everything I knew about males.

"I didn't expect anyone to be..."

"Here?"

"Blocking my path," I replied.

"Actually I came out here to look for you. I got your number from your cousin, Ella. Then I rang your home and asked your mother where you might be. I...wanted to speak to you...alone." My mind was in overdrive while I watched his perfect lips move. Mrs Robinson states, _"...never be desperate to fling a man your number, let him do the work. If he wants you, he'll find you. After all, men do traditionally like to hunt and gather..."_

I snapped out of my reverie. I didn't like where the conversation was heading.

"I see you don't have your entourage in tow?

"What do you mean?

"Your fan club, Teegan and Tory and whoever else..."

"Are you...jealous?

"No. I only went with you to Fall Fling because it was Mouche and Jet's idea."

"Actually, it was just as much my idea."

"Oh please, you could have fooled me..."

I brushed d the autumn leaves off my track pants and stood up.

"Wait," he said (so manly).

"I sort of want to finish my jog before my muscles go cold." _Along with my heart_ I wanted to add. Mark had a cute little dimple in his chin that I'm told from reading one of those ancient Chinese tomes on face reading, is a sign of great beauty. Face it, I was out of my league and who would want to be with a boy-man as much of an arrogant nightmare as this one.

"I was...well, I never get the chance to talk to you in rehearsals and I was just wondering if I could introduce you to my sister, Petra, sometime. She's a bit shy, and she goes to HSYL but no one speaks to her there because she's the new girl. I'd like her to have some friends her own age, or a bit older because she only mixes with adults twice her age and I'm a bit worried about her. I think she would like you...you're creative and interesting and..."

I was shocked and surprised.

"You mean my manners aren't too "shopgirl", my connections to the social life of Sunrise High not too "common"?"

"What? I didn't mean, well, I said some things at the time that were honestly meant..."

I was fuming.

"But that was before I knew you...before I knew better... I didn't know how...lovely you..."

"Oh, and as if your remarks at the Fall Fling weren't enough, do you really think I'd forgive you for ruining the social happiness of my best friend _forever_ Mouche Macintosh?"

"...I don't know what you mean. I know I was unforgivably rude to you at the dance but my sister had just come out of...this place where she was sent for ...well, I was worried about her and I know I behaved badly and...I..."

I couldn't believe all the apologies that were rolling off his tongue. It was as if the _Mrs Jones Guide_ was completely wrong about men never apologizing and my head was really more messed up with our boy rating games than ever before. This was not supposed to happen. My mind should have been clearer than ever by now and I really needed some head space to make sense of Mark's outburst.

I looked towards the lake mist and the water's edge to clear my mind.

Mark seemed more confused than ever. Before he could say another word, I turned on my heel and ran back the way I'd arrived. I determined that Mouche should know the whole story. It was time to share all the information I had gathered.

I returned home and showered. I made some lunch – a bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon from a packet where I had to check the use-by date. I texted Mouche, then I remembered she was doing her Saturday shift at the shelter. I suppose I should've joined her as it is, according to Mrs Robinson, "_very good indeed to help others."_ I fully intended to just as soon as I finished all my extra-curricular activities for the year (dating, essays and the play).

After lunch, I sat at my desk and wrote a first draft of my English paper. I wrote about the role of women in Shakespearean tragedy and reached the conclusion that Juliet was somehow a younger version of some even stronger females that Shakespeare wrote who were also played, originally, by male actors (young boys). I wondered why it was often men who wrote female characters and when I decided to add my '_meeting in the park with Mark'_ to the shared _Boy Rating Diary _I was very happy that the angry words infused in the pages were written by real girls, not just boys pretending to know what girls think.

Sentences and phrases like, '_He's a complete and utter moron'_ and '_I don't find him that good-looking anymore'_ and '..._so conceited he_ _couldn't be as clever as he thinks he is' _and '_his poor sister, fancy having to put up with a brother like that; a hyper-intense bore, a stuck-up snob..'_ I wrote the worst words I could think of under the heading '_Mark Knightly'_ (we were up to page 88 by then) but let's face it, those words were way harsh because I still didn't really know him. But if hatred was just the inverse of love, then I hated him an awful lot.

I flicked through the combined _Boy Rating Diary_ thus far, every section had a different girl's name and then every boy, a different rating with comments etc.

For example:

_Phoebe Harris:_

_After the first meeting, Teegan, Freya, Brooke and Tory were certainly getting noticed - almost as noticed as we were. Perhaps more. They were following our guide to the letter and it was only due to their extreme narcissism that they didn't question the logic in say, part six, where we'd added, "always wear sexy, furry clothes and show a little skin - men love this," when it was so obvious that Mouche and I were doing the exact opposite and covering up in cool jeans and sweaters (admittedly with a little fur around the edges). We wore classic items that kept a little mystery._

_Brooke kept her glasses on and her tops buttoned but upped the smile factor and her nice girl ways also seemed to be working. You had to give her credit for having her own mind – for once. _

_Strangely, the ways of the Princesses did seem to, shall we say, be bearing fruit and Mark and Jet and the rest of the football team had never been so popular..." _

My new entry took longer than expected. I had to write about meeting Mark in the park and also add the other news I'd heard via various Princesses. The diary was a good way of telling Mouche about the horrendous fact I'd discovered: _Mark had actively stopped Jet from dating her. _ I tapped my pink-feathered pencil on my desk. I knew Mouche wouldn't be back from the shelter before 3pm, so I had most of the afternoon to finish my essay. Then, I remembered something else I needed to add to the diary. _"It seems the streets aren't safe from either Knightly's (Mark's sister was yesterday seen visiting a clothing store with her aunt, according to a text from Ella) or Princesses (Teegan's older sister –Missy, the casting assistant – was earlier in the day seen breakfasting with our florist, Tim, who is totally a closet case according to Mouche)._

Suddenly, I thought about Joel. As it turned out, Joel had emailed me twice.

"He's _practically obsessive_," Mouche noted.

We added these emails to the chapter titled, _letters_ and to the one where Joel apologizes for abruptly leaving and twice asks me, _can you come to New York?_ (I emailed him to say – _maybe next year)_ so I think that might have put him off but there is no way I'm quitting the play to be with some guy offering no more than a transient weekend – who did he think I was?

Boy-rating was starting to make me analytical, and occasionally a little bit angry, not an emotion I'd previously allowed myself to express. _Mrs Robinson's _guide would have something to say about that: i.e. _stay contained_...) In _The Good Girlfriend_ guide it says, "_never write love letters...make sure your date writes the love letter." _We are modifying the rules to include incidental notes and emails as love letters! So, although Joel was forgiven for running off after kissing me (very passionately) I realized Joel was not exactly the stable boyfriend material the _Boy Rating Diary_ craved. At least dating and rating a variety of boys had taught us to be highly selective.

"And let's face it," Mouche said, "people (i.e. Princesses) are only too happy to see you paired up with the most inappropriate males (for example, Martin's son)."

I am holding in my hand _notes of the dates thus far (prior to consolidation_). I'm reading them during my quick lunch break. The notes are lying on my desk along with some of the more recent ones in Mouche's drawer. I'm just about to get to them:

Here are some more juicy details about the dates that occurred this past week:

_**Mouche Macintosh:**_

_The game has expanded. Mark is interested in Phoebe. I am interested in dating Mark (for the ultimate United Nations experience) and Phoebe says, "Go for it." So, I don't think she's really interested. She says 'strong and silent' isn't as hot as it's supposed to be. We went for brunch. Phoebe said, in the interests of the game, she didn't object. _

_The date was okay but no real fireworks or anything. Mark spent the whole time asking me about Phoebe and I think they suit one another. The Princesses are throwing themselves at all the boys on our list. The guys seem to be strangely bettering themselves though. Maybe they're not so dorky after all. And in the interests of sharing, I have thrown Jet into the ring. He even took Teegan flowers! Maybe our original rules were flawed. _

_Could it be that the Princesses have discovered that showing enthusiasm is not a bad thing? Are we all learning from the fake truce and really beginning to be nice to each other? Could it be possible that we are making like friends for real this time? And is this for the greater good, not just for our dating game, but the good of teenage society? _

_Teegan, Tory, Brooke and Freya have each had one date a piece. They are added to the FAKE diary but the fake diary has become REAL; the two diaries have merged – we are beginning to trust the Princesses! I'll let them do the talking in their own words (they also added more identifying factors) So, here is what you've all been waiting for: A list of the dates so far:_

_**Date: Teegan and Jet**_

_**Place: Breakfast Sunrise Puppy School (since I have a new Chow Chow puppy and Jet offered to help train him!)**_

_At first, all Jet could do was talk about Mouche and how she won't talk to him. I followed every rule in the list, and he was surprisingly responsive. I wore the very cool cardigan fashion, loosely buttoned but with a demure polka dot scarf because his eyes nearly popped out when I went up to him before rehearsal and said, "hi, Jet...I've often wondered why we've never dated..."_

"_Huh?" he said. Then he kind of laughed as if his friends might be listening. _

_The dogs liked him a lot which is a good sign. _

_I took a pro-active stance as per The Guide. _

_**Items gained:**__ a pair of gloves. It was slightly windy and Jet insisted on buying me the fine woollen gloves I admired at the Sunrise General Store on the way home. _

_**Kisses gleaned:**__ one (on the hand) when my new puppy was let loose and dragged off his leash. I made a yelping cry and insisted Jet kiss my wrist better._

_**Rating:**__ 9/10 (Jet loses a point for being already taken. I think Mouche holds firmly in her manicured fingers, a place in his heart.)_

_**Tory and Jack Adams **_

_**Identifying factors**__: home cinema___

_**Alcohol consumption:**__ none, drinks diet soda_

_**Job and personality:**__ high school junior, film obsessive _

_**Kisses**__: one, on screen, between the actors; I put my arm around him and he had to rush out of the room as I whispered, "I hear you like to make…adult movies."_

_**Items gained directly:**__ a copy of La Dolce Vita _

_**love letters?**__ He's promised to send me an email of his top ten list of all time great action films_

_**Possibility of re-date:**__ maybe, if I can find an ancient copy of Solaris. The good stuff; we are all thinking of starting a Sunrise Movie Club which has to be a pro-active venture._

_**Rating: 6/10**_

_lost 4 points for luring me into his "studio" when I thought he wanted an interview for a reality TV show and to make out; but what he really wanted was to show me some old 1960"s French film He's mad about. Jack seems to be quite the romantic at heart. _

_**Brooke and Tom Allen**_

_**Identifying factors:**__ high school senior, obsessed with investing his money; where he gets that from is a mystery_

_**Alcohol consumption:**__ none, but Tom raided his father's study looking for hidden bottles and spent half an hour trying to locate his father's misplaced Financial Review_

_**Job and personality:**__ high school mathlete and economics major. This was the most boring date of all time, plus contrary to the "dot point list", Tom has the makings of a bad value system. Is he reformable? _

_**Kisses:**__ one, but loses points because I had to initiate it; I know! The boy rating diary has encouraged me to be far more adventurous than I normally would have been on a first date._

_**Items gained**__: another sweater - his mother offered it to me when it got chilly (ah, I believe that was cashmere, girls; project success!) and he told me not to bother bringing it back (does that mean she didn't like me? ) Ah dahrrr, Teegan (who was way jealous and trying not to show it) wrote. _

_Mouche edited this section with an interjection, "you should donate to the homeless charity, Brooke. We have way too many sweaters now..."_

_**Items gained directly:**__ monetary advice, 'priceless' according to Tom's dad. Love letters? Doodles on the back of a drink coaster with love hearts and hugs: "Does this count as a love letter?" _

_**Possibility of re-date:**__ not sure, Tom doesn't invest time in high school relationships that won't go anywhere. Besides, his mother wants him to marry, "a descendant of the Vanderbilt's..." but, learning about the NASDAQ wasn't as dull as I expected and we did hold hands watching the financial news._

_**Rating:**__ 6/10 – room for improvement_

_**Freya and Peter Williamson**__ –local production of Guys and Dolls, Peter was more interested in taking notes on the choreography than practicing it with me over ice-cream at the Sunrise Diner. Ten for effort. He was dressed in shoes with lights and tiny wheels on the soles of them, so he could roll down the pavement like a ten year old. Everyone stared as he moon walked past._

_**Rating**__:6/10 for exuberance and the fact he didn't seem to care what anyone thought about him._

_To be continued..._


	20. The Lake House Chapter 20

_**Chapter 20**_

_**The Lake House**_

When I arrived at Mouche's house an hour later, Trey was fixing his car. He had his head under the bonnet. The sleek sports car was kind of like Trey – long, old-fashioned and lean.

"Where's Mouche?" I asked. I knew Mrs Mouche had either taken the weekend shift (rare) or decided to take Wednesday shopping.

"She went out, with some guy...better be careful, Mouche is starting to get more than a little big for her boots..."

"What do you mean?"

"Well I'm not completely stupid, watching you two girls play whatever dumb little popularity game you've got going...you better be careful you don't hurt too many feelings in the process...kids can be cruel."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, and started to walk back to my place, reluctantly, to finish my paper.

"Oh, by the way, Mouche has gone hiking or to play tennis or something with some guy...named after a plane...Jet. Yeah, that was his name: blonde hair, dorky smile..."

"Thanks," I said.

I texted Mouche: **need 2 talk now**

She texted back immediately and I was shocked when she sent me Jet's address and also the words **can't talk, come over midday, bring swimsuit pls.**

I ran back to Mouche's house and ran upstairs to her room. Trey arrived and stood in the doorway going all big brother on me: "_where are you guys going?"_ and "_what are you doing?"_ and "_be back before ten pm because you know what your mom's will say if you are not..."_

"Oh, I'm so not twelve years old anymore Trey."

"Then maybe you should stop acting like you are..."

He wandered off.

As I sorted through Mouche's belongings I was kind of shocked to discover a few pages of notes where the name Mark featured prominently, notes that Mouche hadn't yet added to the diary. At first I resisted reading them because I assumed that Mouche would tell me whatever she had to say, whenever she was ready. Then I changed my mind and took a quick snap of the loose pages, to read later. I felt like a spy. Help me. Was the _Boy-Rating Diary_ encouraging me to become a person I may not like? I was certainly more pro-active than I'd ever been and that was surely a good thing.

Did I not trust Mouche to tell me about her date with Jet because I still hadn't told her about Ethan? Maybe she just hadn't gotten around to it. Was it because Mouche was beautiful that the girls (I noticed the Princesses were trying to be more cosy with me than Mouche) had started to distance themselves from her as we began to integrate the game?

It really wasn't fair. Most of the game had been Mouche's idea. When I thought about the dates and how the Princesses had secretly been divvying up the spoils and giving me pages on the sly and adding to the locker, I felt Mouche had been somewhat excluded. After all she was the engine behind the fun. Even though we'd changed the rules slightly to involve the Princesses, which we had once so disliked, it wasn't fair to exclude Mouche from information and spy on her. It seemed like the Princesses were taking over. Where did my loyalties lie? Mouche, of course, had way more going for her than just looks and charm.

I pulled out Mouche's favorite swimsuit – ice blue with a ruffle across the top and like something from a 1920"s silent film. I figured Jet had already witnessed the bikini reveal and Mouche would now benefit from something more demure. Then I ran downstairs, past Trey and across the pathway between our houses and back to my room to get mine. Once again, all I could find in my wardrobe was my old navy school swimsuit. I reluctantly grabbed it. It wasn't very exciting, but after all, it would just be Jet and I wasn't planning on seriously dating him.

I paused in my girly bedroom. Mouche's was more neutral creams but mine was a lot of pink. I read somewhere that pink turns boys off. Suddenly, I decided to look at Mouche's recent notes. After all, they were sure to be pasted into the _Boy Rating Diary_ that night.

This is what the first page said:

_The Princesses have joined the game. Yay! I have no idea why Jet Campbell rang me this morning but I found this in the letter box. I will text Phoebe later. She will be so surprised: _

_Dear Mouche_

_I am writing to apologize for cancelling our date and not inviting you on the skiing trip. __My family had made the reservations weeks ago and didn't explain that they couldn't be cancelled. __Please accept my apologies. I'd like to invite you and Phoebe to a barbeque at my place this afternoon. You know the address, midday, Hope to see you there. Please forgive me._

_Jet_

Jet was quite the author. Although I suspected Mark had encouraged him to put pen to paper, Jet should at least have requested Mouche's cell by now. _The Good Girlfriend_ guide suggests offering your cell number but Mouche and I discussed this. On the subject of "who should request details," we are sticking by the old-fashioned advice. Boys should be forced to do some work if they really want to date you.

I was surprised to read such a humble note that I dropped my cell on the carpet as I ran out to check my own letterbox. It seemed old-fashioned but possible.

A letter was also there (I was beginning to like that he had the hang of this writing habit):

_Dear Phoebe_

_Jet has sent a note to Mouche by way of apology. I hope you will forgive me for everything we discussed. I know you may not wish to come but please do. BBQ, this afternoon, at Jet's place. _

_PS. I didn't realize Jet was so into your friend or I never would have encouraged him to break the date. On the subject of your family and the things I said about you at the dance, please accept my apologies once again. Joel, however, is another story and best left to another day. I know He's out of town so that information can wait. Till later,_

_Mark_

My head was swimming. The diary entries, which Mouche had held back, were written before we'd joined forces with the Princesses. Mouche had walked in on Teegan and Tory gossiping about me in the cafeteria. Mouche relayed the conversation thus:

"_Phoebe only got the part of Julie because Miss Tartt thinks she's good enough, but not so good she'll be competition for her."_

"_I believe," Tory said to Mark, "when you came over last weekend that you thought she was quite pretty."_

"_Which one?" Mark said, seemingly not caring if anyone around them was listening even though a group of emos actually looked up from divvying up their play lists, "the blonde one?_

"_Yes, Mouche Macintosh."_

"_I did," Mark announced in his deep voice._

"_You also said her friend Phoebe wasn't much of an actress..."_

"_That is true," he admitted._

"_You seemed to think her less talented, perhaps, than us?_

"_Yes, I thought so."_

My heart was racing, my face almost red with anger. So this is why Mouche had kept these notes secret from me.

_Then, Mark said very loudly so even the mathletes looked up, "but that was before we all went to the dance together..."_

"_Yes?" Teegan said gleefully with a knowing glance at Tory._

"_Jet told us how inappropriately Phoebe's family behaved, when you went to pick them up. I'm sure that must've put you off her," Tory added impishly._

"_It did, almost totally."_

"_So," Teegan pushed, "do you still think she's a bad actress?"_

_The girls sniggered again then looked up, surprised, as he spoke, offering the immortal words, "not at all..."_

"_Really?" Teegan looked less than amused._

"_That was before I got to know her. Now I think Phoebe is one of the cleverest, most talented and prettiest girls I've ever met..."_

"_As pretty as Mouche Macintosh?" Tory added._

"_Different."_

"_I heard Ethan tried to hit on Phoebe so there could be a dent in the friendship right there," Tory added triumphantly._

I read this outraged. Was Tory subverting the rules herself? Surely she wasn't clever enough for that.

_High praise indeed!_ Mouche wrote. I'm not sure if the three exclamation marks were necessary.

_I will pass this to Phoebe this afternoon,_ she added, _her ears must be burning - I can't wait to tell her. Even though all these "compliments" are backhanded, Mark Knightly is really not the man we thought he was. And Jet? Perhaps I have already forgiven him. As for Ethan? I'm still waiting for Phoebe to tell me about that one...but it is only a game after all and I'd never lose a best friend over some boy. Perhaps Ethan said some mean things that Phoebe wants to spare me from hearing. I should definitely re-type this and delete a few of the more hurtful phrases..._

I hurriedly put the notes away. I couldn't wait to tell Mouche what I knew and apologize for not telling her what I didn't. Does that make sense? I think you know what I mean. I piled the diary and our swimsuits into the car.

As I backed out of the driveway in trepidation, Trey wandered over. He had another pre-med exam to study for and thought there would be less distraction off-campus with the house all to himself. Little did he know. He came strolling out just before I nearly flattened the fence with my under-utilized driving skills.

"Hey, you can't do that," he said.

"Excuse me?" I replied in mock outrage.

"Drive..." he said.

Suddenly, I was nervous. I was so eager to check out Jet's place and socialize it had only just occurred to me that Mark might be there. I'd run off and left him standing there alone in the park. Perhaps it was time to make amends at the barbeque.

Trey walked alongside me, opened the door and jumped in the car. "Drive," he instructed, "and wherever you're going I will come and pick you and Mouche up later."

It was only twenty minutes away, but I must admit, even with smudge on his face, Trey looked seriously hot and was obviously dedicated to the wellbeing of his sister. I wasn't about to argue.

Trey burst out laughing when I got stuck with the gear shift at the lights, but when the car rolled back he jumped out and opened my door and said, "okay, I'm going to drive..."

Then, I got this feeling (like I said, I'm a bit telepathic), I could read his mind and he was more worried about _my _safety than his. Was Trey crushing on me? It was too much. So many boys, so little time to date them all (I had arranged to meet Peter tomorrow although there was no chance of my becoming romantically attached to him!). Besides, if Mark was out of my league, so was Trey, being even older and more experienced than Mark Knightly.

Trey stopped at the house on the hill, with a sigh.

"Do you and Mouche know this guy well?"

"Of course, chill out. He's friendly with the Princesses. They're all neighbors."

"The older one, what was her name? Melissa?"

"Missy...she's seriously conniving..."After all it had been Missy who'd conspired to help me lose my _Teen Alien_ audition.

"Oh," he said.

"Why do you ask?"

"I went to school with her," Trey said.

"Really?" I said, suddenly more interested than I should've been.

He looked at me with a knowing smile and said, "Yeah, her family seemed okay."

"You met them?"

"Sure," Trey changed the subject. "So, look, I will be back to pick you up at six."

He drove off, very fast, breaking his own speed limit which was way more dangerous than any of _my_ driving if you ask me.

The path between the driveway and the actual house was long, and although the house was quite garish, the grounds were nice, although not as nice as those surrounding Mark's house. The porch overlooked the lakes, which is why the surrounding homes were known as Lake Houses. Jet's house also had a swimming pool, quite a large one with a waterfall and a spa overlooking the woods beyond. The house below his, which just happened to belong to Brooke, glowed in the foreground. The house opposite belonged to Teegan and Missy. There was a lot of loud music blazing out across the driveway. I wondered if the whole school had been invited to what was morphing into more of a pool party than a barbeque.

I stared at the largeness of Jet's place, past security gates, towards the house. The ground was damp, muddying my shoes as I hiked to the entrance. Mud splashed the edges of my jeans and my hair was wild. I looked like fright night. I'd have to clean up in the bathroom when I went inside.

Then, as I rounded the corner, to my horror, Mark Knightly, climbed out of the pool. Steam misted atop the heated water. Mark looked up, saw me, grabbed a towel and walked off towards the changing room.

Just as I'd decided he was going to ignore me, he came running out half-dressed, drying his hair.

"Hey, Phoebe, I wasn't sure you'd come..." he said.

"I...brought Mouche's swimsuit..." It sounded stupid and it was all I could think of to say, because _Mrs Jones_ always said not to look too eager. Of course, another guide totally contradicted that (the one Tory was following) so who knew what was what until we consolidated strategies later in the week.

As if he could read my thoughts, he seemed surprised and genial as he took the towel off his head and pulled on his long-sleeved cotton shirt.

"Right this way," Mark said amiably.

I followed his lead, navigating manicured gardens.

"We didn't actually realize we were going to have a barbeque until this morning, but I would've invited you in the park, if I'd known."

Even after I'd _insulted_ you? I thought.

"You got my note?" he said suddenly.

"Ah...yes," I admitted.

Then something happened that was rare. He smiled. One of the most beautiful, sincere smiles I'd ever seen and I was suddenly very happy. I smiled in return, and it might have been the start of something save for Teegan and Tory running down the lane and yelling out, "Phoebe! Phoebe! Did you bring your swimsuit?"

Honestly, those girls acted like I was their new best friend. The dating game was bringing us closer together.

We shared secrets.

Neither of them had, so far as I knew, manoeuvred "the" date with Mark – but we all had our social diaries full up for most of the next month. There was also the wedding between Mr Frames and Miss Love coming up. Oh, my head was just filled with possible social complications.

"C'mon", Mark said, "I want to introduce you to my sister".

Together we all walked up the garden path towards Jet's house which seemed less garish in the afternoon sun. Jet met us at the door with a welcoming smile.

Nobody's parents were there and it seemed like Jet's neighbors were on their best behaviour, though I was a little surprised they'd been asked. Although I'd only taken piano lessons for a few years before turning to dance, I was impressed by the beautiful (and tasteful) Steinway in the corner of the lounge room overlooking the garden.

"Do you play?" Jet asked in a friendly manner, whilst leading me through the living room to meet Petra.

"Not very well."

Mark's younger sister seemed to appear from the shadows. She was standing in a cream, summer dress with a sweater draped over her shoulders, like a beautiful ghost. Her skin was pale but she was not as thin as I'd been led to believe. She smiled at me from the stairs she walked down, and glanced with relief at the face of her brother.

"Oh, Phoebe, I wanted to introduce you to my sister, Petra."

I liked the way he said my name. Mark's sister smiled shyly and said "hello" in a neutral voice.

I felt like I should take the lead in any conversation between us as her shyness was obvious and Mark seemed so concerned that we would like each other.

"My brother," she hesitated, "told me that you play piano Phoebe."

"I took some lessons once, but I play quite badly."

"Yes," Jet said, "she's a much better actress."

Mark frowned at Jet.

"Well, my brother said you play and sing beautifully."

My cheeks flushed. I smiled.

Mark and Jet had gone to organize lunch by then. I looked over at the boys, surprised.

Then Mouche walked in with Teegan and Freya. As Mark looked up along with Jet and Petra, I must admit I think I saw his eyes flicker slightly at the stunning sight of Mouche and her "back-up" singers wrapped in the sarongs Teegan's mother had brought back from Hawaii. They all looked like cover girls and the edges of my jeans were thick with mud. Was it just me or did anyone else notice Teegan sniggering?

I excused myself to change into my swimming costume and Mouche gave me an excited smile when Jet and Mark had turned their backs to ready the lunches.

"A man who can cook," Tory said, looking at Mark in the kitchen, "now that's a rare find..."

Petra sat on the edge of the pool, wrapped in a huge towel, sipping a drink and smiling, looking very glad to be in company. She had offered to play "something special" on the piano for me before I left and I was looking forward to it. I suddenly wished I'd kept up my lessons, although it doesn't pay, according to _Mrs Jones" _advice, to "_best everyone else around you at everything_. _This can be overwhelming to a man,_ _and galling for other girlfriends."_

Teegan whispered something, then giggled as we observed Mark and Jet flirting with Brooke and Freya who had just arrived to join Jet's neighbors. This didn't make us feel special, so Mouche sent a quick text out and before we knew it two new boys from our acting class showed up with towels and soda and a bag of pretzels.

Mark and Jet looked surprised. Mouche said, "I hope you don't mind, we thought it would be nice to add some more people to the mix, since you guys don't know everyone yet at Sunrise."

Jet seemed mildly put out, but then reverted to his usual friendly self. He made sure everyone had soda and snacks and talked soccer with the boys. Mark socialized as well and before we knew it, the barbeque evolved into a full on party that Teegan and Freya would write up in their diaries and turn into another social scandal that wasn't.

After we'd finished swimming and eating the delicious food Jet made, I showered and dried off. When I entered the sitting room Petra was playing the piano, a tune slightly more advanced than I'd been used to hearing, _Allegretto._

It was beautiful. When I looked up, Mark was watching me listen to the music. Suddenly I felt embarrassed to be feeling more than I had resolved to feel. It was hard to admit, but perhaps the boys deserved another chance. Mark seemed too proud until he let his guard down and Jet was so amiable as to risk being used for his innate hospitality.

We were more than happy to let Teegan or Tory or Brooke or Freya reel them in, using all the scheming dating methods of bygone eras. We only had to get one of them to take us to the ball.

The game of love was a game of chance and ours to manipulate, or so we thought.

I felt stupid and a little bit mean; almost like Teegan, except I was sincerely crushing on Mark and he couldn't understand why my interest ran hot and cold.

"I know it would be a foolish guy who thought that a simple apology was enough," he started, "but you know, before I spoke to you I didn't realize how wonderful you were." He said this just as we were about to leave. I was so flattered I could barely speak and almost fell out the door after Mouche went off to say goodbye to Jet who offered to drive us home. But that wasn't necessary. Teegan's older sister Missy made an appearance just as Trey buzzed the gate and after speaking to all of us girls quite rudely about not forgetting to shut the pool fence, was all niceness and politeness to Trey, who seemed quite taken with a made-up Missy in her bikini top.

"Oh, Trey, isn't it?" Missy betrayed the recognition in her face.

"Hi Missy, I've just come to collect Mouche and Phoebe."

"So, weren't we sophomores together?"

"Yes, before you left to go to HSYL."

"School wasn't the same without you. We should catch up sometime," Missy said, not even trying to play hard to get. Missy was one of those girls who sucked up to boys but was mean to other women. Even the Princesses noted this and thought her behaviour completely unnecessary.

"That'd be great," Trey replied.

Mouche looked at me with an exasperated expression and said, "well, must fly, study awaits," and dragged Trey unwillingly by the hand as I said "thank you" and "goodbye," on my way out the door. Mark lounged in the window seat with Freya as I was leaving but got up and stopped me as I walked along the cobbled path to Trey's car.

"Listen, just an idea, but I thought you and Mouche might want to come horse riding with me and Jet next week." Before I could say, "I am otherwise engaged," as per an old _Ladies Journal of Dating circa 1926 (what to do with disagreeable men) _I'd almost changed my former opinion of Mark and stumbled into the car, as Mouche said, "we'd love to."

In the car, Mouche giggled.

"Mark's not as big a Tool as I thought," she said, and we sped off.


	21. Etiquette Chapter 21

_**Chapter 21**_

_**Etiquette**_

After the final dates that night, we consolidated the diary, even adding Trey's interlude with the snooty Missy. Both Mouche and I made a note that we had broken one of our vital rules regarding last minute invites, _"always make sure the boy gives you advance notice of a date, otherwise he will just take you for granted. Plus, you need at least a few days to get ready, be prepared and look your best."_

That was one rule, even if it was in the interests of spontaneity, that wouldn't be easily broken again.

The next day, all the girls gathered after dress rehearsal. The run of _Rocco and Julie_ was terrible; everything that could possibly go wrong did go wrong and I was beginning to think Thom shouldn't even bother sending a representative from Julliard. Of course, he insisted. (S_ometimes you have to let others believe in you even more than you believe in yourself _or so it says in "_A Girls Guide to Etiquette" - _although Mouche disagrees on that one).

"Besides, a bad dress rehearsal always means a great show," Peter enthused.

Backstage, during the run, Mark was mouthing the words as I said them. He'd heard them all more than once and I have to admit I was impressed with the gusto and good humor he suddenly displayed. Mark actually seemed humble in this new light.

"Almost like Jesus when he was a carpenter," Brooke noted.

Even Miss Tartt was a fan (well, obviously, Miss Tartt was a fan). The scene he was lighting for the tech run went something like this:

**Julie to the Priest **_**(in confession)**_

I am in love with someone...so different from me. I just don't know what to do. I have this...potion that will put me to sleep, I'm thinking of pretending to be asleep...forever. When we've fooled our families Rocco and I can run away together.

**Priest**

That could create major complications.

_Paris walks in_

**Paris**

Julie? Why are you crying? Why is my love in tears?

_Paris takes Julie aside (stage whisper)_

We are to be married on Thursday. Then, all of your father's money will be mine.

**Julie**

I am _so_ not in love with you.

**Paris**

Is that all you have to confess?

**Julie**

Also, that I love...someone else.

_Julie starts to leave, Paris tries to stop her and she slaps him_

**Paris**

Ah, shrewish...all that will change after Thursday. Where are you going?

**Julie**

To find Rocco

**Paris**

Are you on drugs?

Mark could be heard laughing from the top of the lighting cable at this oh so serious high point in Act Three as Mr Sparks looked on unimpressed. Then I started laughing too. I mean, Mr Sparks was really losing it. The entire third act was laced with lessons about life choices, teen marriage and the perils of alcoholism and drug taking.

I'm not sure whether the school censors would be letting Mr Sparks get away with it but you had to hand it to him for trying. And, of course, there was Miss Tartt enabling him, glancing lovingly his way and cheering him on. Why is it women help males shine then end up waving on the sidelines like fans? Is that _enough_ for them? Don't they want to be the driving forces behind their own lives? Or is it just easier to let boys steer the way? _The Good Girlfriend Guide_ states, "_Never be jealous of other women. Anger and jealousy are wasted emotions. Find the love in everything and focus on it. _

_Always strive to do what's right for you without being mean to others – especially other women (because by dividing to conquer, women are busy devaluing other women while men climb the career ladder and let other members of the boys" club in with them). _

_If the worst happens and another woman 'steals' your man consider placing equal blame on both the man and the woman. Ask yourself why your instinct dictates that you should cut the woman out of your life but consider taking the man back? Is the female somehow more culpable than the male...or is she just less valuable__?_

I would never consider men more valuable than women just because _the world sometimes views the status quo_ this way.

"Phoebe Harris, if you break out of character again I will consider asking Mr Sparks to replace you!" Miss Tartt snapped from the sidelines. She's working as the prompt today because Jet and Mark are fulfilling other duties.

Miss Tartt has been unduly mean to me and sometimes even Mouche (her favorite apart from Mark). It has to be said, though, that the woman works hard for Mr Spark's. Perhaps she needs someone to set her straight. The _Mrs Jones Guide_ wouldn't do her any harm. I could leave it in her bag anonymously. I will highlight the parts about "_not allowing men to use your smarts to make themselves look and sound smarter than they are" _and the part about "_not feeling so threatened by other females that you have to make life extra hard for them_." After all, helping others has to be good karma.

When everyone was finishing rehearsals, and after I'd surreptitiously left the _Guide_ just under the flap of Miss Tartt's faux leather handbag and Mr Sparks had given us "the talk" about how "we have to mean what we say and feel what we mean," and Mouche and Ethan had found some kind of equilibrium playing a delicate tune in tandem on the upright piano, much to Jet's obvious displeasure, we all dispersed.

I saw Miss Love and Mr Frames walking hand in hand towards their car park in the distance from the auditorium windows.

"That's true love," Tory said wistfully as Miss Tartt delegated all the carrying of props to the minions to take backstage. Mouche had gone on ahead with a car stuffed with final costume adjustments. I was the last to lock up. Or so I thought.

I was thinking about _Mrs Robinson's _guide (my favorite) suggesting that "_those who can laugh together are made for each other," _Does this mean I could be made for Mark? Or was it Joel or even Trey I laughed with more? I had to admit, even though Joel had been busy dating Ella and Mouche's cousin in tandem; we did have some amusing moments together. It was all becoming very confusing as I raced back from my recently fixed car to get the last pages of the _Boy-Rating Diary_ that I'd stupidly left in my make-up box in the dressing rooms.

Mark was still packing away a lighting cable. I was shocked that he seemed to enjoy his rustic but lonely "menial tasks."

We met as I was racing down the stairs and he was walking up them.

We had to turn on our sides to pass each other, but our bodies touched. It was kind of uncomfortable, but in a good way.

"Does this mean you're my girlfriend?" Mark said sarcastically, when we had about one inch of space between us.

"You wish," I said, mortified he may have discovered my Boy Rating Diary where I had highlighted the _"why girls should stop treating boys like Princes and other girls like minions,"_ page for Teegan.

As the secret and real versions had started to merge, along with our animosities, we had all become more curious about each other's experiences and more willing to share. The more we shared, the more we learnt about the way boys think and the games they play and the more we stopped being total frenemies and embraced what could (almost) be described as "friendship." Why couldn't girls be more supportive in real life? Perhaps we just needed a common goal (the greater good) in order to work together. Imagine how much we'd missed when we were unsupportive of each other. Everything was changing. Boys like Mark and Jet and Joel and Ethan were in for a wild ride.


	22. Twelve Go Dating Chapter 22

_**Chapter 22**_

_**Twelve Go Dating**_

We met on the rotunda near the lake, not far from the riding stables in Sunrise Park. There were two swans paddling together in the water creating an unlikely picture in the foreground, a fantasy image of loving but docile harmony. Perhaps if they'd stayed in view for longer we might have witnessed their territorial animosity.

Mouche and I were a rowdy pair that morning. All the items had been gathered apart from two disparate ones: the bracelet and a pair of shoes. We'd broken the rules by allowing ourselves to date Mark and Jet more than once, but since that rule was unspoken, we decided it was ours to navigate. Besides, a morning spent at the Sunrise Pony Club was something we all looked forward to and a group date was hardly the same as a one on one encounter. We'd decided another date with Mark would drive Teegan and Tory wild and Mouche was absolutely willing to go riding with Jet ("I can't believe he is so literate," Mouche said, "His sweet smile belies a formidable intellect!") What we didn't know, was, by the time we arrived, Brooke and Freya had invited Tory and Teegan and all their previous dates along as well. We joked about it in the _Boy Rating Diary_ afterwards, "_it was like pony club for teenagers..." _

We arrived at 8am at the Sunrise Stables. The Princesses were dressed in riding outfits from head to toe and had dragged along their unwilling partners. Mark and Jet seemed surprised but amused and Mouche and I were absolutely willing to go with the flow. I was paired up with Mark, because although I had refused to dance with him, I hadn't refused to ride with him. We'd since reached a point where, let's face it, I was seriously interested in him and it was going to be hurtful to have to give him up to others to date. Still, he could always refuse other offers, but I have a feeling he won't. Men like to be popular (almost) as much as girls, but that's a whole other chapter.

Jet, of course, was very eager to ride with Mouche and make amends for the missed date. Mouche looked very good in her new outfit and she rode quite well. I wore my favorite blue jeans, no ridiculous riding britches for me.

Teegan and Tory wore navy blue jodhpurs and made a beeline for Mark, simultaneously, ignoring their surprised dates, Jack Adams and Tom Allen.

"After all," Tory said, "we can go riding with them any weekend, but it's not every Saturday that Petra joins us."

Petra was brushing her horse and looked up and smiled at us as Tory spoke.

Mark looked pleased.

"Is she coming along the trail with us?" Tory inquired.

"No, Petra wants to finish grooming her horse, Hobbit." (Hobbit had new shoes and was apparently having some difficulty trotting comfortably). Tory couldn't resist a snigger when she thought no one was watching. "But, she's going to meet us when we get back. Why don't you both join us for lunch? Phoebe and Mouche are coming as well. The more the merrier," Mark said amiably. He seemed to have channelled Jet's personality recently.

"Oh, that would be fabulous," the girls said because they knew Mark went riding every Saturday morning after soccer practice and it was important to befriend his sister in order to grow closer to him. They'd seen them both in the club house a few weekends ago. Of course, it's also possible that self-interest wasn't paramount in their thoughts. It could be that they just liked Petra and wanted to get to know her better. After all, if she teamed with Ella and Katie and their younger sisters, there would be a whole future generation of Princesses.

"That would be lovely. We'd love to join you all," Teegan said a little over-enthusiastically, I thought.

Mark had already ridden off when Teegan said under her breath as she fixed the saddle, "wonder why she was late arriving this morning?"

Petra had arrived after us, just as we were all about to set out on the trail ride.

"Probably busy barfing," Tory added under her breath.

The Princesses were returning to form again.

"I happen to know Teegan was a functioning bulimic in ninth grade. It's so typical for her to attack someone else over a problem she secretly has," Mouche added as we trotted off.

I rode up alongside Mouche who seemed surprised I could sit a horse, but I'd been going to pony club from the age of six, long after Mouche dropped out. My attendance had been less frequent since Daddy ran off with the family fortune.

Mark's Aunt had invited us all for lunch and I was excited that we'd get the chance to explore Mark's house afterwards. It was sure to be very formal and opulent.

Ethan had agreed to accompany Teegan but was constantly ignoring her and glancing over at Mouche, flexing his fingers in between gallops. He'd been practicing "some concerto" for a competition the night before.

"Honestly, I'm just surrounded by high-achieving talents. It's making me quite insecure," Teegan whispered sarcastically.

Freya, who'd been pony clubbing since age three, invited us over to her place last week. We consolidated "date-notes" and admired her amazing walk-in closet and riding trophies. There were hundreds of shoes and boots in the latest styles, all color co-ordinated along with her jackets, and we compared and contrasted fashion. Freya even allowed Brooke to try on her costumes from previous school musicals. Tory and Teegan tried on some of them as well. The rest of us sat on Brooke's bed, beneath the crucifixes, adding extra notes to the _Boy Rating Diary_ and that's when Tory and Teegan told us they intended to go riding on Saturday.

Mouche and I thought our wardrobes were quite extensive but, on the one night we babysat Wednesday last month, we had total access to Mrs Mouche's closet which is way fancier. Mrs Mouche has loads of her mom's vintage fashions and hundreds of pairs of vintage shoes.

However, the walk-in closet to end all walk-in closets really belonged to a most unexpected individual: a girl none of us knew well, Mark's sister, Petra.

Petra surprised us all by meeting us half-way. She was an excellent rider and made Teegan and Tory look like amateurs.

When we met, the boys, Jet (who was his normal charming self) and Mark (minus his usual scowl), had already been riding for half an hour to "warm up the race horses" as Tory put it. I don't think he'd expected Mouche or me to be so good. We both knew something about riding, even if we didn't do perfect little canters and jumps like Brooke and Freya who were in the opposite paddock by now with Tory and Teegan cheering the boys on like homecoming queens.

They were clapping out of time to the beat and if Jet so much as whispered, they took notes. They knew full well this was an arranged date and although we didn't totally ignore them, it was a little uncomfortable having to pretend to be inclusive when they rode over to try to get the attention of Jet and Mark, under the guise of preparing for their respective trail rides.

Mark seemed intent on helping Mouche handle the bridle properly and though Teegan yelled out, "look at this!" Mark only glanced up and seemed vaguely unimpressed. I felt sorry for the Princesses once we'd all actually gone for a gallop. Their behaviour had exposed them as desperate and slightly incompetent.

At one point Jet was giddying up my horse and Mouche was trotting around the ring on a horse named Flame. Flame took off and Mark followed her. The animal was going faster and faster until Mark grabbed the reins off Mouche in a very timely and masculine way.

"Whoa," Mark said.

He managed to slow down the horse and prevented the possible accident that may have occurred as the horse ran wild into the distance.

"Here...take my hand," he said, as Mark offered Mouche assistance.

Mouche smiled at him gratefully as he helped her down onto solid ground to recover. I was trailing behind them slightly. Mark patted Flame, then looked at Mouche calmly and said in a protective fashion, "are you okay?" to which she replied, "I'm a little cold," and he took off his own jacket and wrapped it around her.

My heart beat skipped.

Mark checked the horse, "Oh look, a rock under the saddle. That is sure to disturb the horse when weight is pressed up against it." Mark glanced at one Princess in particular.

Teegan flushed guiltily.

Mouche's face had turned white. The Princesses and their dates had halted their horses behind us and pulled up looking shocked.

Afterwards there was a bit of a truce as Mark and Jet invited everyone back to Mark's aunt's house.

"I have a prior engagement," Teegan said, because she couldn't stand not being the centre of attention and everyone suspecting her of sabotage.

"Oh we can go to The Grove later," Brooke replied to a withering stare from her sister.

The other girls seemed to have reverted to their former ways and wandered off with their original group. Tory said they had half the football team lined up for a "skate off" at Sunrise Roller Derby at 2pm anyway.

At least, that's what they told us, "trying to make all the boys jealous," Mouche added under her breath.

So in the end it was just me and Mouche and Mark and Jet and Petra.

Because Mouche and I are like sisters, we telepathically knew this would be a great story for the _Boy Rating Diary_ so we jumped straight into Mark's new sports car. Though Mouche was crammed into the back seat, she said the view of the hills in the distance reminded her of some amazing foreign film, "like a scene from a Bond movie – the one set in the South of France."

There were huge gates outside Mark's mansion which were even taller than the gates around Jet's place. There was also a moat and a bridge we drove over to reach the house which was surrounded by manicured gardens and staff to open the door for us when we reached the entrance. There didn't seem to be any other adults apart from the butler and housekeeper who helpfully took our jackets.

"All very gothic," Mouche said.

"The wing my sister and I share is really warm. We have a huge flat screen television and all the mod cons (Mark sounded seriously British when he said this). You should have seen where we went to boarding school in the South of England, originally." Petra gave a shiver from the remembrances of previously cold times and I felt her pain. Mouche did also, although she noted in the _Boy Rating Diary_, that what she felt for Mark at that point was more of a sisterly, rather than future girlfriend, kind of feeling.

Mark was very tall and hot but, let's face it, he wasn't exactly spontaneous. Mouche didn't seem to mind as she leaned forward from the back seat, paying intense interest while he spoke of his days playing "football" in the mud and wet of Windsor.

"Hey, isn't that where the Queen lives?" she asked.

"Yes, but only on weekends. As a matter of fact you see Windsor Castle not far from my old school."

"Wow that's almost like being related to royalty," Mouche said sarcastically.

"Totally," I agreed but I noticed when Jet tried to put his arm around her she moved apart from him.

Mark's sister took us on a tour of the indoor pool and library. We walked beyond the Knightly family crest and ancestral portraits on the wall. Petra was two years younger than Mouche and me but dressed with more fashion sense than we had at her age. She also seemed more mature. Perhaps it was her upbringing and early loss.

"Are those jeans Vintage?" I asked.

"Yep," she said sweetly, "they were my mother's. She ordered them off the internet."

Mark suddenly looked very sad and said, "Come and join us for a late lunch." He was acting so polite it was hard to believe he was the same person. Jet suggested they go and play pool while lunch was being prepared "by the housekeeper."

"Okay, we'll be down in a minute," Petra called out.

Mark said he'd give us a tour of the house. His uncle was, "away in Europe on business, but due back soon...hopefully after we've left." Mouche laughed at his joke, perhaps a little louder than me.

"I'm afraid my Uncle is...a bit different."

"You could say that," Jet added bemusedly.

Although the house was seriously ritzy, I got to tell you Mouche didn't look very impressed. Her mood lifted when lunch arrived. We both loved food (although we tried not to eat too much junk) and this was delicious - platters of sandwiches and little silver trays of fruit salad and ice-cream for dessert.

"Wow, this is wonderful," I said.

"Totally," Mouche agreed.

"As good as the Sunrise Diner?" Jet asked.

"Definitely," I replied.

"Maybe even better," Mouche said, smiling at Mark. I noticed he smiled right back at her.

After lunch we had a tour of the huge house, "more like a mansion," I whispered to Mouche.

Mouche whispered back to me in the "library" as Mark was stoking up a real fire place,

"Ethan and I went ice skating last night..."

"You mean you went on a second date without telling me?"

"I have learnt to keep my options open. Besides, he rang me a few days ago, obviously, because it says in _Mrs Robinson's_ guide never to ring a man. I texted him back. One thing led to another and before I knew it we were at Town Square Ice Rink."

"Did anything happen?"

"Not really, well, we kissed...and I scored a pair of ice-skates to take to the Rockefeller Centre in the future...sh...Jet's coming back."

I was starting to think Mouche was playing the field a little too well.

Jet entered the room and smiled at Mouche. You could tell he really liked her. I wasn't too bothered. I mean, I had other ideas. I wandered off to find Petra's room which was located in an old converted ballroom. Petra had the most amazing bedroom I'd ever seen although the size of the room itself appeared to engulf her and she seemed happy to have company.

Besides, leaving Jet and Mouche alone for a few minutes was, I thought, the right thing to do.

"Hey Petra, It's nice to see you again."

"Hi Phoebe."

There was an extravagant doll's house in the corner.

"Mouche's little sister would be wild about that," I said.

"It's just for decoration. My aunt installed it. You should bring Mouche's sister over sometime," Petra said congenially.

"Uh...Okay," I replied.


	23. Family Secrets Chapter 23

_**Chapter 23**_

_**Family Secrets **_

Petra looked really shy and very skinny, although not totally anorexic, as some might have said.

She smiled up at me. Petra was sorting through her wardrobe, then she spoke in a reserved way, becoming more animated as she made her suggestion, "I was hoping we could all go down to the skating rink next Saturday. I was going to text you."

"That'd be great," I agreed. I loved to skate even though I was less than perfect at it. I enjoyed getting all dressed up in wintery clothes although it was nowhere near winter weather.

"I'm trying to find something nice to wear. We don't often have visitors since I've been here and my aunt tends to sleep in the afternoons."

"Oh, really? Why?"

"Pharmaceuticals."

"Right," I said, not knowing whether to laugh or commiserate. Let's face it, all did not seem entirely "normal" in the Knightly household and I was glad to be going home to my mom's place and also to have Mrs Mouche's warm and loving home as a refuge. If ever I get married and have kids, I'm going to remember love is more important than money.

"I suppose they keep her happy," Petra said this almost like a warning. "Anyway, take a look at my stuff; I'm trying to find this shirt I bought from Selfridges_._"

"Oh, you like to shop?"

"Of course."

"Me too."

Petra continued, "But I got this in London. I love to go to Kings Road. I miss our old home."

"Wow, you have the most amazing closet." Honestly, it was fit for a real Princess – well, maybe a young Queen.

"Just like Hannah Montana," she replied, with a hint of her brother's wit.

"I suppose."

"You're right, I'm lucky. Come in, check it out." Petra turned on all the lights and she had the sort of fashion haul to do those teen envy reality shows proud times a thousand.

"You even have proper stage lights around your mirror. I love that."

I placed my hand on the right shirt and jeans for Petra in minutes; then I got an idea. I found some sort of vintage suit covered in plastic and said, "Hey, do you ever wear this?

"Actually, I don't. It's too big for me. My aunt bought it for me to wear to a wedding I didn't attend."

"Oh, you must really like it then."

"Not really, I'm thinking of giving it to Goodwill."

"No, don't do that."

It really was the most perfect vintage suit I'd ever laid eyes on, exactly right for my character to wear in the final scene of the play, and also for our treasure haul.

"Why don't you have it," Petra suggested.

"Really?"

"Sure."

I offered to reserve Petra a seat in the front row on opening night. It's amazing how kind people become when you are working towards a common goal. It's like the universe steps in to offer possibilities. One of our spiritual guide books to dating, _Astral Planet Loving, _elaborates on that.

After giving Petra a make-over, we entered the dining room together only to find Jet inching closer to Mouche. When we arrived he let go of her hand and started to act really cool and Mouche glanced over to me with a, "I think It's time to go," look on her face.

We noticed Mark's uncle hovering over the drinks tray in the corner of the room wearing a business suit and tie. He must have arrived home early. Mark looked worried as he introduced us to him.

"Hello, girls," Mr Knightly said in a slightly too-friendly way.

Mark's aunt introduced herself with a dismissive, "and who are your little friends, Mark?" as if we couldn't speak for ourselves. She also looked at our clothes with a distasteful expression on her face as if what we wore was shabby. We left just as she was asking us what our fathers did for a living, what kind of car they drove and if we summered in the Hamptons.

Poor Mark. He had wanted to leave immediately after lunch but his relatives arrived early. He looked embarrassed as we gathered our jackets to leave.

"My parents were never like this," he said.

Jet interjected, "oh, Phoebe...Mark forgot to tell you something...you should know about Joel."

I was in a hurry to leave. Mark's uncle was creeping me out and Mark seemed hesitant to speak loudly, so I jokingly said, "you should put it on paper."

"Uh, okay," Mark replied. He looked surprised that Jet had spoken on his behalf when usually it was the other way around.

I knew guys didn't usually write letters, but I thought this might prove added commitment. Mark looked like he wanted to come with us but was forced to stay when his aunt told him his Latin tutor was due to arrive in ten minutes.

Turns out Mark's uncle had arrived back from Brussels and was pouring himself a drink. He actually asked us if we wanted one as we were leaving.

Petra excused herself to "walk the dogs," after giving me a "see you soon" smile. Mouche pinched another sandwich on the way out as Mark's uncle gave both her and me a long glance from head to toe.

"Eww." Mouche said.

"I know. Mark's uncle is super lecherous."

"He must like younger women."

"Much younger."

"Gee, that's original," Mouche said.

"I know, poor Mark. Do you think he even noticed?"

"Definitely. Besides, he never would have invited us home if he realized his uncle was going to be there." Mouche said. "What a sleaze."

"Totally."

"You can't choose your relatives."

"Unless they're your friends," Mouche added.

Surrounded by lush grounds and with the majestic mansion framed by sunset falling, we finally understood why so few people had ever been to visit Mark's place.

The next day a letter was hand delivered to my house.

Mark's chauffeur embarked from the car and rang my doorbell. I sleepily answered in my pyjamas and robe, rubbing my eyes.

"Miss Phoebe Harris?"

"Yes."

"I have a letter for you, young lady."

Even the chauffeur sounded like he was from another country.

I took the cream paper, sealed in a gold envelope with my name on it, and immediately thought of our treasures (letters from so many boys, growing daily), but only a few from Mark thus far.

I read the letter with interest as I poured milk into my breakfast cereal. My mother arrived in the kitchen fully dressed in a suit and ready to start her realtor day with a showing in Mark Knightly's gated community. I considered myself lucky to have such a good relationship with my mother and considered Mark and Petra's situation in a reflective light.

"Good morning sweetie," my mom kissed me on the top of my head.

"Hi mom."

I pulled out my cell and texted Mouche.

**You need to come over right now P. **

Mouche arrived ten minutes before we were due in home room. She was breaking some cotton with her teeth ("I know, it's totally not the done thing in your stupid _Mrs Jones Etiquette tome_, but I've just finished hemming our dance costumes. There.")

"Check this out," I said. "It's the longest letter He's ever written!"

Waving the letter in front of her I ripped it open and read aloud:

_Dear Phoebe_

_There is one subject that I should enlighten you about – the subject of Joel Goodman. _

_Although he is from the very best of families and my father and mother were great friends with his parents, Joel was always economical with the truth, from the time we played together as small boys. When my father died, he left Joel (as his Godson) a sum of money for his college education and Joel managed to hoodwink his own family into letting him have access to this money which he then spent in a seriously disreputable manner. But this is only money, which I have never thought was something worth arguing over._

"Mmm..." Mouche raised her eyebrow, "a man with a good value system,"

"Finally!" I said, wickedly.

"Read on, I can't wait to hear the rest. He has this haughty British tone on paper."

"Not just on paper."

"Keep going!"

_What really led to our falling out was an incident that occurred during the summer holidays when he came home from the prep school he'd been sent to by his parents. This was the first time he tried to get close to my sister. He basically made an attempt to seduce her. They were both under age and my Uncle threw Joel out. This has led to my sister being quite unsociable and at one stage she suffered from anorexia (thankfully recovered, but she is still quite fragile). _

Mouche interjected, "actually his love for his sister is really quite touching!"

I looked at her incredulously.

_As for Joel's parents, when the company they ran was sold, they both received enough money to live on comfortably for the rest of their lives. It is Joel who is lying, not me, and I just wanted you to know this, so that we can be friends. _

_Mark K._

"No loving exclamation marks?" Mouche asked

"No," I said, stating the obvious.

"Maybe we have been way harsh on him. I'm sure he didn't mean to separate me and Jet."

"He's certainly tried to make up for it since."

"Well, I'm beginning to see how complicated relationships can be..."

"_Mrs Jones_ always says good ones don't need to be."

"Well, I think, just this once, _Mrs Jones_ is wrong.


	24. Rocco and Julie Chapter 24

_**Chapter 24**_

_**Rocco and Julie**_

It was opening night.

"I just want to apologise for my crazy aunt and uncle," Mark said from the shadows as I was about to enter the dressing room to apply my stage make-up.

"That's okay. The whole experience was...kind of fun."

"Just as long as they're not your family, huh..." Mark said, master of the obvious.

He had repeatedly apologised for his "unwelcoming family" even going so far as to tell me that he "can't wait to turn eighteen so I can be out of there." It was way harsh for him to have to live with such stuck up bores and you had to hand it to him for trying to overcome his circumstances. His personality had really improved too, or maybe he'd just finally revealed himself once we got to know him better. Perhaps we'd been too quick to pass judgement.

The dating game had pretty much been played. We all had our favorite dates and an entire locker filled with "gifted" treasure as well as a subway map of New York and a trophy with a blank metal space ready to be engraved with the name of the winner. The yet-to-be-uploaded blog was designed and edited with out-takes, quotes and images from our many months of intense research. The research was all contained in the second Boy Rating Diary – the one we fully revealed amongst ourselves. The original diary was hidden. Mouche and I hadn't glanced at it for days but we knew it contained early, unspoken secrets.

We were all very proud of our game and busy acting like best friends. Teegan was still mildly in disgrace since all of us suspected her of the riding sabotage. She had apologised profusely, admitting that although she had groomed the horse, given him an extra brush, she had not noticed the pebble under the saddle and would never have let Mouche ride if she had.

We kind of believed her.

After all, we were besties now.

Although, let's face it, no two friends could ever be as close as Mouche and I.

Everything changed on opening night.

Gossip and chatter filled the backstage area along with tulle and denim jackets, the staples of the costume department. Nervous actors with parts both big and small gathered in the wings before the curtain came up. My costume was amazing for the last act but quite understated for the first two. I couldn't wait to get into it as I ran my hands over the pink tulle ball dress designed and made to fit perfectly (thanks to Mouche), and the vintage blue denim jacket and boots that would complement the tragic scene when Julie gives her life to be with Rocco in death.

Conversations gathered in the air: talk of Act One moved on to the topic of Miss Love and Mr Frame's upcoming wedding, Wednesday's audition for a potentially lucrative baby commercial – these were all topics for discussion. Mouche and I are totally going to be Wednesday's managers if she wins. Teegan even offered to put in a good word for Wednesday to get back on side with us.

The Princesses were all acting so supportive, in pursuit of the greater good, like little Godmothers. The future _Boy Rating Blog_ had taught us all a thing or two about female friendship.

"Like," Teegan repeated, "If girls truly supported one another, the way groups of boys seem to, the world would be a very powerful place for us."

"It's like playing soccer," Tory continued.

"For example, last home game, when all the boys actually seemed to work together as a cogent team, the girls were jostling on the sidelines for the best view," Brooke added.

"Is it because the view is so hard to get?" Freya asked.

"Wouldn't we have had a better afternoon if we'd made space for everyone instead of trying to exclude some girls? Or better yet, shouldn't we have worked to make our _own_ team more athletic?" Mouche stated.

"Who cares if no one wants to cheer us on. It's time we stopped being happy just sitting on the sidelines!" I suddenly announced.

"So true," Tory said.

"Yes," Brooke added, "girls need to stand together. I've learnt so much about how boys behave just from comparing stories with everyone else."

Of course, it helped that by this stage, everyone had blown it with Mark, everyone except Mouche and me. Try as they might, they disregarded the rules and paid him far too much attention until he seemed completely fed up with being tailed by the Princesses and started directing all his energy towards me and Mouche.

"Geez," Freya said, "do you think He's gay or what?"

"He's so not gay," Brooke said.

"Definitely not gay," Teegan added.

"I have it on good authority," Tory concluded.

"Whose?"

"I kissed him in the rotunda but all he wanted to do was talk about Mouche and Phoebe. I don't think he can make up his mind which of you is his favorite."

"Me too," Teegan added, "I mean, I kissed him as well: another time, another place, of course. He has strong arms and for sure a big..."

"...jacket?" Mouche finished the sentence for her.

"That's just what I was about to say," Teegan said mischievously.

"He didn't even try to kiss me. I think Jet told him I'm planning on becoming a nun," Brooke said.

"Are you?" Teegan asked.

"No," Brooke whined, like it was obvious that she was about to change image and lighten up for senior year.

_Well, he needn't tax himself,_ I thought, _because he is just the pawn in my game of chess._

"Funny how it's always the men who think they control the game of love," Mouche said.

"The game of love is a game of chance," I repeated as I was about to go on and pretend to only have eyes for Peter Williamson.

And then the curtain and lights came up and there I was, front stage centre, saying my lines and pretending to be the most famous lovey-dovey teenager in history.

It all went very well and we had a huge cheer after Act Two as the curtain came down. During interval I ran to the backstage dressing rooms to pick up a prop that Brooke had 'forgotten' to place onstage. I would have made do except the vial of poison was vital to the plot ( the part where Julie pretends to be dead so that she and Rocco can run away together – except Rocco thinks she actually has killed herself and stabs himself because he can't live without Julie. Mr Sparks uses this plot point as a message about the futility of self-harm).

It was, however, Miss Tartt's idea and Mouche and I were impressed to see her flicking through _The Good Girlfriend Guide_ last rehearsal and insisting on being included in decision making as well as standing up for herself. We've noticed she's nicer to girls and other women, and, she's applying for a promotion. Instead of just giving certain students an evil glare when Mr Sparks is speaking, she will stand there with an almost beatific smile on her face, _spreading the mental_ _love _just like _The Good Girlfriend Guide_ suggests.

"Not exactly normal," Mouche would comment, "but a step up from how she was before."

"Absolutely," I agreed. That night Miss Tartt was being helpful, desperately searching with me for the poison prop vial.

It was the same week Teegan pretended to self-harm (feigning a mild overdose of her mother's tranquilizers) to get Jet's attention (it worked, but he still hadn't asked her to the prom and she was considering a pity date with Jack Adams, who'd bothered to visit her on the one day she took off school (also to get Jet's attention).

"You are sure to get invited by Mark," Mouche whispered backstage as she was going over my lines as part of her jobs as prompt, dancer and now understudy. "Now might be the time to give him a little encouragement," Mouche suggested and she was usually right.

So I was pretty surprised when I ran up the backstage stairs yelling out, "I've got it" with the tiny clay prop in hand and stumbled upon Freya kissing Mark on the lips. Mark seemed to be really into it and how could I imagine Freya was not willing to do anything to win the game?

Wasn't he supposed to be making sure the stage was lit properly?

I backed up straight away and tumbled into a pile of props that Brooke – who'd offered to help Mouche, had forgotten to put away. I fell splat on the floor. Having tripped over my own ankle, I then managed to fall flat onto Peter Williamson who was doing up the buttons on his Act Three trousers.

I was mortified as my Rocco was carried off on a stretcher. What a disaster. Not only was my heart almost entirely broken but the people from Julliard had probably given up on me ever getting back on stage when Mark ran over to help me.

"I'm so sorry Phoebe, she just grabbed me," he said.

"Yeah right," I said softly.

I backed off, pretending not to care about him and Freya. Freya gave me a smug smile and an insincere, "oh no, what can we do to help you Phoebe?"

"You could get off my prize!" I wanted to snap but stopped myself just in time. _The Good Girlfriend _suggests, _"Never reveal your jealousy. Sift through those issues by working on your self-esteem."_

"That's so true," Teegan agreed when I told her. "It's like, if I feel fat I should just work out more instead of coveting some other girl's muscle tone."

"Exactly," Brooke said. "We should try to be the ones who _build the building_ instead of the ones who knock it down."

"It's going to be okay," Mouche suggested. And I'm sure she meant it.

Empathy for me didn't stop her from shining in my place.

Of course, I realize a true friend would have been happy for her and I was. It's just that when the final curtain fell I was registering the long and passionate kiss Mark had given Mouche. Both were understudying the leads by then and Mark had to carry his script onstage with him. It was hard to feel charitable as their lips touched.

"What a man-slut," Teegan whispered to me.

"Bet he's enjoying that, mwoah, mwoah..." Tory's little sucking noise mocked my chagrin.

Thankfully, Mouche was such a great performer; she managed to save the play. It was not just my imagination, looking on from the wings, that Mark particularly seemed to enjoy sucking Mouche's rosy mouth before her character woke only to find Rocco lying still, poisoned. When the character of Julie (my character!) tastes the poison on Rocco's lips, well that's when self-doubt started to sink in.

"Mouche does seem to be lingering unnecessarily," Teegan stated.

My ankle was throbbing. How had I managed to become such a cliché of my own life? The nurse had wrapped the bandage around my foot like a tourniquet. I tried so hard to feel happiness for my friends but I'd started to doubt the game, Mark, the Princesses and especially my friendship with Mouche. The Princesses were clapping wildly and whistling on the sidelines along with the standing ovation the audience gave (made up mostly of families but also the precious Julliard judges).

Now that the Princesses had accepted Mouche, I was beginning to feel weird about her. I was unsure about everything to do with our stupid boy-rating idea. It was okay for us to round robin date in the beginning, but suddenly I was mad at my best friend.

"Face it," Tory whispered, "Mouche has "accidentally" stolen your man..."

"Your part..." Teegan added.

"And, quite possibly, your life," Freya continued.

"Not to mention the future," Brooke added, fixing her nurse's apron.

Looking back, all the resentment came to a head during the final scene of _Rocco and Julie_.

In this scene Julie speaks her soliloquy (rather dramatically) over Rocco's body,

**Julie**

Farewell... God knows when we shall meet again.

This, I have to do, alone.

_**Julie takes out bottle and drinks.**_

Julie's mother runs in (and here Mr Sparks copied the exact text) where the mother is played by a very smug Freya, (who'd demanded dual roles to show off her "versatility"). Freya is plastered in ageing make-up (with talcum powder in her hair to make it look grey and tries to shake Julie awake. Of course the talc began snowing all over the floor by this point and its lucky Mouche didn't turn her ankle as well).

The scene continues:

**Mother**

Who has done this? A jealous hood! A jealous hood!

Quick, call for help.

_Rocco hears Julie has been killed. He fights and kills Paris, runs to Julie who is lying on the floor._

**Rocco**

Oh my love, my wife.

**Julie**

Here's to my love. The drugs are quick Thus with a kiss I... (Julie falls down)

_Rocco kisses Julie, Julie starts to stir, and she wakes up as music starts. Julie shakes Rocco but he doesn't stir, as the curtain falls and anti-suicide, smoking, drugs and drinking slogans are projected on the wall behind the slain lovers..._

"This was so not in the plan." Teegan comforted me after the curtains had been lowered as the audience clapped madly and I was left waiting in the wings sans date even for the after-party. I figured I could safely kiss Julliard goodbye.

"Gosh," Brooke said, "I had no idea Mouche was such a wonderful actress. I knew she was a great dancer."

"Oh hush," Teegan said, "can't you see Phoebe is suffering terribly? Her one chance at college might be down the drain (now this made me angry, who were they kidding?) but what is worse, she had to witness Mark kissing Mouche. He's obviously in lust with her – Mouche, I mean."

"It must have been so hard for you," Brooke said patronizingly.

"It was just a play!" I interjected. "Besides, no one _owns_ anyone and we're not even together. They were _acting_."

"Didn't look like acting to me," Teegan said.

I must admit, they did seem to have some serious chemistry. I should've _stalked and_ _claimed my prey _in Sunrise Park when I had the chance (according to Chapter Nine of _Mrs Robinson's Guide_).

Oh, I was ready to weep like a heroine from one of the old-fashioned movies Jack Adams and Teegan and Mouche and I had watched together. And, of course, the show had to go on, so it was not officially Mouche's fault. She'd only reluctantly agreed to don my costume.

And here I was back stage, freezing and miserable as my best friend took my place during the deserved standing ovation. All the plans I'd had for prom and even my post high-school life suddenly seemed ground into the dust.

"You're such a drama queen," Trey had once said, when I was delegating roles in our neighborhood Christmas pageant almost ten years ago. I was only six but I liked to be in control almost as much as Mouche.

Not quite as much. Mouche had outsmarted me. Here she was, acting up a storm in place of me, a shining star. I'd wept as I watched her perform her scenes.

"I'm so sorry, Phoebe," Mark said again later that night, "Freya was just helping me practice the scene. I know that sounds like a line but I really mean it."

"Well, it seems like she did her job so well, she forgot to tell her friend how to place the props correctly and ah...I can't move my foot."

"I'll get the nurse," Freya added helpfully. Don't you just love that? That part where girls pretend to be nice in front of boys they are trying to impress? It makes me so annoyed.


	25. Frenemies Chapter 25

_**Chapter 25**_

_**Frenemies**_

Mouche walked towards me.

My best friend had brought the Julliard people backstage to meet us. Was it her fault that they seemed more interested in talking to _her_ about the possibility of a scholarship? They did say how great I was in the first two acts and Mouche looked at me with a wan smile, "I hope you can forgive me," she whispered. Then I realised, it was my place to say, "what for?"

I had to get over myself.

This was not the end of the world. After all, we still hadn't organized dates for the prom, but I wasn't letting her get away with taking my role and kissing my man and thinking it hadn't hurt me to the very core of my being.

The Julliard representatives gave me a polite smile then walked off as Mouche and I scowled at each other.

"How could you, Mouche? You were my best friend in the whole world!"

Mouche looked stunned. She turned around without giving me another glance, and walked away.

For the first time in years, Mouche and I went home without saying a word, separately and silent.

Well, Mouche walked, I hobbled.

My ankle was bound tightly but well on the way to healing.

Of course, the play didn't go off without a hitch, but it did end up being a huge hit. _Rocco and Julie_ only ran for six nights but there was a packed house every night. Mark learnt his lines pretty quickly after his first performance (after all he had been listening to the rehearsals for months!) and really rose to the occasion. Mouche got the best reviews of her career. Thom begged her to come back to the agency as he phoned with updates on Wednesday's audition. "It's between her and one other girl but I will keep you posted..."

Teegan glanced at me knowingly and said, "It's amazing what some girls will do to get their baby sister famous..."

"What do you mean?"

Teegan had never really warmed to Mouche even though Mouche had made all her costumes beautifully and had really tried to be helpful once all the girls had realized their rules were somewhat skewed and they would need access to the proper advice.

"Mouche would never kiss a boy just to get Wednesday famous."

"Not what I hear," said Teegan. "It sounds like she's been doing more than kissing. My sister told me Jet's father owns the company making the advertisement. Seems like I didn't have to put in a good word for her after all."

It's interesting to note that often people accuse others of something they have imagined or have done themselves. Mouche was giving me the silent treatment and I was seriously beginning to miss her. My only outside "friend" contact came via the Princesses who were reverting, true to form, to type. Most of us were busy working on the final edit of the soon to be _Boy Rating Blog_ now that our group effort, the team work of the second _Boy Rating Diary_, was practically in the bag.

Mouche hadn't returned my calls.

The end of the school year was nigh, the dates had been dated, none of us had boyfriends (except maybe Mouche) but she hadn't spoken to me for almost a week now, not since I'd yelled at her after the kissing scene with Mark. In truth, I'd only meant to ignore her for a day but it just seemed more and more difficult to talk. But let's face it; the fault really lay entirely with me. I needed to own my jealous streak.

Teegan wouldn't talk to Mouche either. The leading Princess had always been envious of Mouche's perfect hair, cornflower blue eyes and talent. Teegan had long wished for a reason to exclude such a pretty high-achiever. The other girls sided with Teegan, because deep down, they'd felt the same way. The only person who seemed to be talking to Mouche was Mark. Oh, and Jet. They all sat together to have lunch. It got even worse when I asked Jet to help me with my history homework (though I didn't really need any help). That was when Mouche discovered me canoodling in a corner of the lunchroom with Jet. It was the same corner we'd invented the original Boy Rating Plan in, all those months ago.

I grabbed Jet by the shirt collar, flicked his hair out of his eyes and planted a kiss on his cheek when he least expected it just as Mouche was walking over to say "hi," and collect her lunch.

She turned around again and before I knew it, even if I'd wanted to talk to her, she didn't seem receptive to talking anymore. In fact, she frowned at me.

I was way upset but pretending not to be when she began to appear in tandem with my nemesis, Freya. Mouche really knew how to go for the jugular. They were discussing fashion and pre-men as if I didn't exist. Apparently, Freya was secretly jealous that I had stolen Teegan which wasn't entirely true because Teegan was no replacement for Mouche. We didn't have that much in common.

Teegan was acting more superior than ever. She was way too self-obsessed to be interested in my life plans (recently shelved). Teegan wasn't interested in helping me become a better performer, either. She just wanted to discuss boys and talk about how easy it would be to prise Jet from Mouche ("if she's even got him..."). This got a tad boring after a while. We polished a lot of fingernails and chewed a lot of gum.

Life was lonely without Mouche. I went to my closet one afternoon and pulled out the hundreds of childish letters we'd written to each other over the years and a little tear dropped off my cheek and into the shoe box before I mopped it up with a tissue.

My mom noticed me flicking through old photograph albums. She was getting ready to go on a group date with Martin, Mrs Mouche and Mrs Mouche's new boyfriend, Jake.

"I'm going to talk to Mouche's mom about this. I'm sure there is a way for both of you to be friends again."

"No, mom, don't. I'm going to work this out."

"Well, just remember darling, there are always boys, and it's wonderful to make the right match and perhaps even have a husband one day, but real friendships can't be replaced. The best ones last a lifetime..."

It was true.

I waved to Trey when he was washing the car that weekend and he waved back but it just wasn't the same. I'd have to start mentally preparing a proper apology. Perhaps I'd even write it down. I could list it in the _Sunrise News_ if Mouche could even be bothered reading it. Maybe it would be better to put it in her letterbox, personalize it like in the good old days. Hopefully, Mouche would listen.

Let's face it, my friendship with Mouche seemed just as important as winning the game, maybe even more so.

Then something happened which changed everything and forced us all to talk again on the day Miss Love and Mr Frames tied the knot.


	26. The Wedding Chapter 26

_**Chapter 26**_

_**The Wedding**_

Mouche and I were silent junior bridesmaids. It was a beautiful, solemn but joyous occasion, just as a wedding should be. They had a great band playing memorable songs and beautiful flowers adorning the aisles with garlands to decorate the reception tables afterwards.

What was left of the brief fall we'd had led to a slight layer of orange crunch covering the ground and an even briefer winter which had left the slightest amount of snow. The first time it had snowed in Sunrise in thirty years, according to Mark's aunt. The whole town was there, practically the entire school and all the parents of the Sunrise Parents and Teachers Association gathered in synchronicity. It was just the Princesses and Mouche and I who seemed to have some socialization issues. We were dressed (to add to Mouche's disgust) in pink. I liked the dresses, and I heard Mouche grudgingly admit to Teegan once she had hers properly fitted, that she liked them too.

By the day of the wedding we had consolidated the dates. After the play, the mix-ups and the dates, came the joining of two like souls in Holy Matrimony. We all had little notes in our inboxes and final drafts of the content of the blog, which was yet to be published on the internet. We still hadn't had our final group meeting, because none of us were talking.

At the reception that followed Mr Frames" marriage to Miss Love, Jet couldn't take his eyes off Mouche as she sat at her table between Mark and Jet. How was it she had managed not to come between those two friends? Were the boys actually more mature than the girls or was it just that they'd never let a petty emotion like jealousy get in the way of enjoying life? I think probably the latter.

Mark looked at me then smiled and walked over to speak.

"Phoebe, I'm so sorry about what happened...backstage and all that. Seems like I spend half my life apologising to you."

"Mmm… seems like it." I wasn't convinced.

Suddenly Joel appeared like my knight in shining armour.

Mark scowled at him, turned and walked over to Mouche, then asked her to dance.

Typical.

"Phoebe Harris I missed you more than words can say," Joel said.

I wanted to laugh. I didn't believe a word Joel said and if he hadn't taken my hand before I stood up I would never have danced with him.

"I'm sure you had far too much to do in New York to think about me..."

"I emailed you hundreds of times," Joel said in a mocking way.

"That, I find hard to believe, since I only have two emails. It was quite thrilling to hear all about your travels. I didn't think you'd be back here in a hurry." I said sarcastically.

Joel seemed to sense I knew something about his past that he hadn't told me, like what an irresponsible individual he'd been, lying to me and manipulating all the people in his path, including Mark's sister.

"I couldn't miss the entire semester. Besides, Miss Love was almost totally responsible for giving me a glowing reference that encouraged the Deputy Principal to re-think my exclusion from school...so here I am..."

"Here you are," I said absently, searching the room for Mark.

Joel took my hands in his. They were surprisingly warm and not at all clammy which had to mean he had many good qualities yet to be discovered. I figured I'd let someone else discover them.

I glanced around the room as we danced. The Sunrise Hall was decked out in strobe light splendour. As the dinner dishes were being cleared, dessert was served, mood music began to play and the night wore on.

Teegan brought her date, Jack Adams, the film buff. They'd somehow hit it off in the back of the projection room with Teegan taking "our rules" very seriously, playing hard to get, then finally relenting and letting him know she was interested in him. Jack seemed to like her approach and gave her a box of Coco Mademoiselle perfume for her birthday. Dutifully, she added it to the holding locker which was now crammed full of surprises, as well as a diary filled to the brim with notes due to be uploaded onto our anonymous site.

Tory was with Tom Allen and his Blackberry which he had switched on to silent. He was checking shares for the stock club, which had dwindled dramatically in popularity but Tory had followed every rule in our guide and all of them had worked out brilliantly with Tom. He wasn't very generous at first. But by the third date, he presented her with his sister's ice-skates, unopened, left lying in a box after she 'd abandoned them and gone to prep school in upstate New York. Their date was at the Sunrise ice-rink and very romantic, according to Tory, who seemed to have all but forgotten about Mark Knightly. Don't ask me why. "Anyway those ice-skates will be perfect for skating in winter at the Rockefeller centre," Tory said wistfully as she placed the new white skates next to a previously gifted pair.

Brooke wore a somewhat sullen expression underneath her apricot winter hat and had straightened her curls in honour of the day. She'd managed to entice Peter Williamson to visit for a weekend with her and her very wealthy parents at one of the lake resorts. They occupied separate wings at the resort because there was no way either Peter's or Brooke's parents would have considered any other arrangement. Brooke desperately tried to pull off more than rule one 'the kiss,' and didn't even achieve that. However, to thank Brooke for her hospitality, Peter had very sweetly insisted on buying Brooke the sunglasses she'd admired in the resort gift shop window. They weren't exactly Chanel but they were the latest style and we arranged them nicely on the top she lf of our now bulging treasure chest.

Freya had arranged to go to an art gallery opening with Josh Klein who spent the entire evening talking about his passion for playing the violin and why he loved the early works of Picasso. Freya was so surprised by how much he knew about the world of life and art that she had bypassed rules one to three and gone straight to collecting proof (in the form of an old-fashioned photo booth – she had resorted to kissing Josh in there before he'd had any chance to protest) and had even forgotten about collecting a "gift" for our treasure chest. It was good that he had agreed to accompany her to the wedding.

"He didn't freak out like _Mrs Jones' Guide_ suggested he might," Freya said. He had, of course, loaned her his mother's cashmere coat and it would be at least six months before Mrs Klein missed this particular item from her extensive wardrobe. Freya didn't ask questions once she had claimed her prey.

None of them (that we knew) had secured Mark for the prom and we had, in fact, heard that he was due back in London for the holidays. He was going with Mouche - or not at all. We weren't surprised to notice him ignore us or to see Jet glance lovingly at Mouche as our teachers said their traditional vows.

Wednesday had come along because Miss Love desperately needed a flower girl and all the children she taught were teenagers and Wednesday was happy to be dressed like a little princess in crown and "diamonds" for the day. She currently sat under the table with the page boy (Miss Tartt's nephew, Timmy) playing pick-up sticks.

My cousin Ella and Mouche's cousin Katie made a brief appearance. Ella resumed a conversation with Joel (whom she had met in the local candy store just hours after he'd arrived back from the airport). If I'd been paying more attention, I probably would have noticed Ella flirting with Joel, but I was busily finishing dessert and wondering how best to approach Mouche again by then.

Now that the Princesses were playing by their own rules their dates had gone surprisingly well. The boys seemed flattered and thrilled that these girls had taken the initiative to ask them out and who could have predicted their basically generous natures would rub off on the Princesses.

Let's face it, love was making everyone kinder.

Everyone that is, except Mouche, me, Jet and Mark.

We were all more confused than ever.

And there was Petra. She may have been too young for a serious boyfriend, but she would certainly benefit from the company of good friends. Instead of socializing she arrived late and sat isolated in a corner. I found her a seat at my table for the entree (delicious lobster mornay and crunchy bread and butter with tomato soup – very exotic) which cheered her up no end and had her looking quite full and happy. I think me and Mouche (if our friendship survives this impasse which I am sure it will) will adopt Petra as our next (and slightly younger) best friend and give her the benefit of all our good advice. That's if we ever talk to each other again.

Petra told us she is transferring to Sunrise next semester and I have my eye on a sophomore called Josh for her. Actually, He's sitting in the corner over there and I think I see him heading this way. Mouche coached him for a Big Sister program our school took part in last year.

The lights were dimmed, the strobe turned to dimmer. The band played softly, and the lead guitarist took a swig of spiked soda. Guests drifted off the dance floor, couple by couple. Minutes passed. My favorite song played in the half light.

Suddenly Mark was at my side. He cut in and took me by the arm and said, "Please come with me outside. I need to speak to you."

Joel seemed to disappear the way he'd arrived, quickly.

Tory mouthed "go for it," since we weren't sitting with the Princesses anymore (obviously) and she was intently conversing with Petra.

"Was I just one of your little...trick dates?"

"Excuse me?"

"Tory told me about a...diary"

"Oh, you read it?" I feigned shock at his poor manners.

"No, I just wanted to hear what you had to say...Tory says she's going to put it on the internet or something tonight."

The horror in my eyes masked my fear of exactly which pages would be uploaded. I had a feeling the Princesses did not do things anonymously and certainly not by halves. During the past weeks we'd all become so friendly, we'd shared details about our first dates with Mark and Jet. If they couldn't have the prize, no one else would either. The Princesses planned to upload the early Mark insults I'd written, first impressions never meant to see the light of day. How could I ever have imagined Teegan was trustworthy? She probably considered showing Mark all the horrible stuff we wrote (excluding their pages) before we even got to edit the blog. It was the surest way to secure the prize for the prom! We had exactly two and a half hours before the scheduled midnight meeting.

"Well, it's true that we were playing a dating game, for fun, sort of..."

"What did the winner get?"

"The winner hasn't been announced yet," I said cryptically. Let's face it; at this point it seemed the winner was unlikely to be me.

"That seems, kind of...confusing."

"Oh, you can talk! Being nice to me then kissing my best friend and trying to ruin Joel's life!"

"His life! Didn't you read my letter?"

"That still doesn't excuse you for being proud and difficult before we talked, then ...after we'd talked you seemed so much nicer and I was beginning to like you, but...you seemed to be more interested in Mouche. Anyway, I can see you are not in any mood to be civil."

"That's not true. Why do you think I went to all the trouble of writing you letters to explain everything? I've never written a letter to any girl in my life. You are the special one. I think I liked you the first time I realized you could see through my facade. I was so mad at myself for ruining things by speaking out of turn at the dance, that I've been trying to make it up to you ever since. The kiss was in the script! I'm not going to apologise because it made you jealous. I was only talking to Mouche to find out more about what it would take to get you to like me."

Mark turned around and I thought he was about to stomp off, when this loud, fairly romantic string quartet started to play softly then louder on the steps outside the stately reception home (slightly less stately than Mark's ). I looked up and saw Mouche and Jet dancing in the rotunda and looked quizzically at Mark.

"He's taking her to prom," Mark said.

"Oh," I replied. So Mouche hadn't won the bet either. Mouche had traded gold for love. Perhaps Mouche was a better person than I was.

Mark paused. He was dressed very nicely in his suit and tie for the wedding. I wasn't surprised he was here because he and Jet were in Miss Love's academically gifted class, taking advanced trig, something that's never vaguely interested me.

Then he looked at me strangely, as if he was still trying to work me out, and smiled.

"Will you give me another dancing lesson?"

"I didn't think boys really liked to dance...except maybe Peter Williamson."

Mark smiled and took my hand.

The day had ended. Mouche sat at a table deep in conversation with Jet. I stood at the punch bowl with Mark as he leaned over and pushed some of the wedding glitter off my nose. The Princesses disappeared into the indigo shadows, along with their dates. The night wore on and the other guests started to leave. Mark's sister, Petra, walked outside with the boy we'd introduced her to, Josh. They were sitting on the steps with their sodas, laughing. Mark looked up then looked at me.

"I was wondering?"

"Yes?" I said. My heart was racing.

"Well, I was wondering if you still feel the same way you did about me after the Fall Fling."

"...No, absolutely not," I smiled.

"Good..." he said in return.

Then quite unexpectedly, Mark moved closer. Across the functions room furniture, all cream and garlanded with peonies and chocolates and recently wiped away wedding cake, we met. He kissed me as we sat atop a mahogany table where lovers from as far back as 1968 once made out.

We looked at each other and smiled. Then Mouche glanced over at me and smiled and even though Mark hadn't actually asked me to the junior dance (although I was willing him to do so and wishing I could break our self-imposed rules and do it for him) suddenly everything seemed right with the world.

"I gotta go," I said, "You were never just a game. You were first prize. It's a girl thing – a meeting all of us planned months ago."

Mark seemed to accept this explanation with a bemused smile.

Mouche looked over at me as the Princesses started to trail off without their dates.

"Okay, I gotta leave early anyway. My uncle's taking us boating before breakfast. He's better when he's not jet lagged," I smiled although it was in dubious taste to mention Mark's uncle at a moment like this. "So, I'll call you tomorrow..."

"Until tomorrow," I said. I wasn't sure how long I could wait until I saw him again.

That night, I was walking home with Mouche along Main Street. I was so glad to have my best friend back. Life was an embarrassment of riches right now.

I apologised for my petty behaviour and Mouche accepted.

"I missed you so much," I admitted, "You are my best friend in the whole world," I added.

Mouche smiled, "same here," she said.

"We should head to the Lake House; get a lead on the Princesses...C'mon..."

The Christmas lights were out and everything looked so beautiful. By ten pm only the Sunrise Cafe was still open. As we rounded a corner, Mark's aunt was finishing her late night shopping. Our bridesmaid dresses were dragging in the street as we walked along the pavement, so Mouche and I tucked them into our underwear.

Mark's aunt practically walked into us. Her expression registered our impropriety. She had left the wedding early and was finishing her late-night shopping but still wore her tailored linen suit and heels that were far too high to be comfortable. She rested a small bag of groceries on her hip as she headed towards her expensive European car. Then, before stopping as an afterthought, she turned around to speak to us.

"Ah...Phoebe Harris, isn't it? I didn't get a chance to speak to you at the wedding. You came to my house for lunch a while back..."

"Yes," I said, unravelling my skirt.

"Hello again, it is nice to see you."

"Yes, nice to see you too, Mrs Knightly."

Mark's aunt had been way rude to me and had placed the skinny, miserable looking daughter of her business partner, Kayleen, right next to Mark at the wedding to encourage him to dance with her instead of me, no doubt.

It seemed so funny that she was currently looking at me like Iwas the one who was seriously impolite. Mark's aunt seemed to be concerned that I was imagining myself to be the next Mrs Knightly just because Mark took me on a tour of his house. Hello, I'm barely sixteen!

"I've seen your picture on my nephew's cell phone. I just came to ask if you are going to the prom with him."

She questioned me in a very loud, overbearing voice.

"Ah...I'm not..."

"I only ask because he knows he has a prior arrangement with Kayleen."

"Well if that's the case, then how could he be going with Phoebe?" Mouche interjected.

Mark's Aunt got high on her horse at this point.

"Oh, I know who you are. This whole town's been talking about you and your mother's infamous liaison with the school guidance counsellor...not to mention your illegitimate sister..."

"Ah, that word is not used anymore in polite company," Mouche said.

"That is quite enough, Mrs Knightly!" I interjected. Being insulted was way harsh, but to insult my friend and push her to the verge of tears because she was standing up for me, was an outrage.

It was weird because Mouche's psychic abilities and my telepathic ones seemed to have completely abandoned us after the happiness of the day. We were extremely pleased that, although our own dalliances hadn't worked out the way we planned, we seemed very good at fashioning other people's and in a roundabout way, love had found us when we least expected it.

"If it is true that your business partner's daughter and Mark are dating then you should not be concerned that he might be going to the Prom with me."

"Oh, I know how devious your sort can be!"

Mrs Knightly was so pompous and had a very affected accent. I really felt sorry for her and would have had a strange desire to laugh if it weren't for Mouche gesturing me over to the nearby park bench.

"Excuse me!" I said and walked off towards the streetlight.

Mrs Knightly also walked off, shaking her head. Honestly, on the subject of future in-laws, _Mrs Robinson_ would seriously have something to say. I mean, there must be millions of future in-laws who are nice. Why couldn't I have met some of them? I can't believe I just said "future-in-laws," I must be losing it. But what really surprised me was how much the dating game had changed us. I was outspoken and standing up for myself – not just on stage but in my private life and Mouche had started to act more demure around the man she seemed to love.

"Jet," Mouche said, "is the nicest boy I've ever met."

"And rich too," I said, "not that that means anything."

"Not as rich as Mark Knightly," Mouche added.

"Who is not as arrogant or as rude as I thought."

Suddenly my cell beeped loudly. There was a text from the Princesses: **cu midnight the lake house.**

Then my cell rang. It was Ella's mother, panicking because it was almost midnight and Ella wasn't in her bed.

Ella's mother was three years younger than my mom and quite the drama queen.

"By the time Ella is eighteen I am certain her mom will be stealing Ella's eighteen year-old man-dates," I told Mouche.

"She's a total cougar already so _lock up your boyfriends_, Ella," Mouche said to the wind.

Then Mouche checked her cell and discovered a text from Ella that said: **pls cover for me don't tell mum I've gone to meet Joel!**

My mother rang me after Ella's mom had hung up and asked, _"Are you on your way home? It's so late for Wednesday! You mean you don't have her with you?"_ Mrs Mouche's screams could be heard many blocks away.

"I came to pick her up from the reception at eight, but I was told she was with you and Mouche."

"Who told you that?"

"Some boy called Joel..."

"Just hold on, mom. Tell Mrs Mouche not to panic. Call you in ten minutes..." Mrs Mouche was hysterical on the other line as I texted Mark's number, since I knew he had a car and could beat us back to the reception hall.

"Just wait until I speak to Joel," I said to Mouche as we hurried back along Main Street. I just knew he was busy distracting Ella who was not much younger than him but certainly more foolish. I knew he'd caused trouble with Mark's sister and I figured it was about time he got a piece of my mind. But first, we had to find Wednesday. I'd give it a few seconds and a call to Mark (who could check the hall) before I called the police.


	27. It's Not Over Till It's Over Chapter 27

_**Chapter 27**_

_**It's Not Over Till It's Over**_

There was a lot of anxious waiting on that park bench under the street light. Mouche and I were nearly frozen by the time we received another call, this time from Mark.

"I've got her," Mark said exactly two minutes and twenty-eight seconds later.

Turns out Wednesday had fallen asleep underneath the long table cloth that covered one of the round reception tables. How could Mouche and I have forgotten all about her? I hugged her so much when she arrived I almost squeezed her awake. But she was blissfully unaware of all the drama as Mrs Mouche, tears streaming down her cheeks, opened the front door. Trey was mercifully at school and had missed the entire episode. He'd be livid, so that was one less glare I could expect in my direction.

Mark arrived at our house, twenty minutes after he'd texted me, with Wednesday in his arms. She was bundled up in a tablecloth she'd taken a fancy to, oblivious to the commotion.

Mark was driving his own car and arrived with Joel (who was also on his best behaviour and sheepishly deposited Ella as well). The runaways had told Mark they'd been in the Sunrise car park: Ella practicing on her new rollerblades and Joel, skateboarding.

"I just don't know what the fuss is all about," Ella whined sleepily.

"You call me," her mother lectured her, "anytime you are going to be late and we don't know where you are..."

Mark spoke softly to my mother on the steps. Meanwhile, I was sitting on the porch swing with Mouche's surprise, the rescue dog. This one was a new mixed breed puppy who ran to Mouche's arms the minute she held them out.

"Oh," Mouche said, "she's gorgeous. This is big love."

Our moms raised their eyebrows then walked inside.

Nobody was really talking to us, except maybe Mark and Jet.

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have asked you to keep my note private. Joel is a reckless person but I think in the end, he meant well," Mark said.

"It's okay," I said, "really, its Ella's responsibility to call her mom. I was sure Joel and Ella couldn't have gone too far..."

"But you wouldn't mind going...away, sometime..." he seemed about to suggest something when my mother walked out onto the porch.

"I think it's time you came inside, young lady."

What was all this "young lady" business? I felt like I was in a Swiss Finishing School instead of standing opposite the man of my dreams.

"Thank you, Mark," my mom said. He smiled at her congenially.

Joel had passed out in the back of Mark's car after sampling the punch. He was mumbling something about wanting to go to the Metropolitan Museum and not thinking anyone would be worried.

"According to Joel's father, Joel had reserved flights to go and see some band in New York on his father's credit card. Honestly, I don't know how that boy arranged everything so quickly. He must be a genius..." my mom said.

"Perhaps he just needs someone to keep an eye on him..." Mark suggested.

I knew Ella was not exactly truthful and the combination of her and Joel could have led to a much bigger drama than this one. There was already talk that Ella would be on the next flight back to Phoenix to stay with her father and Joel was being sent to military school for his final year.

"You know," Mark said, "I was thinking, this summer, would you and Mouche consider coming with me and my sister and Jet to France for ten days? Our family own a Chateau there and we can go exploring and then visit Paris. I think you'd like it."

"Are you serious? But I'm saving for college."

"That's okay. It will be my treat on the family jet." Mark flashed his black card. I noted his name engraved on it in gold. "Think about it."

Then Mark turned on the stairs, under the porch light and looked over at me, reached out and kissed my lips. It was perfect. We got a little more passionate until I pulled away...

"Oh, my goodness."

"What?"

"I just remembered something,"

"Until next week then?"

"What's next week?"

"Prom. We'll pick you both up at 6.30pm."

"Stop."

He turned around.

"You're supposed to ask me...properly."

Then he did something with all the charm he'd kept hidden from me these last months. He got down on one knee and said, "Phoebe Harris, will you go to the junior prom with me?"

"Yes," I said and kneeled down to his level and kissed him quickly.

It was consolidation night. Although I'd won all the prizes the last thing I wanted was to have the competition made public in any way. The Princesses were waiting for our midnight meeting at Teegan's house where we planned to upload information from the past year onto _The Boy-Rating Blog._

"There's something I have to do," I said to Mark as I rushed off the porch to Mouche's place.

Mark looked a bit perplexed but since he'd retrieved Wednesday and saved my cousin Ella from possible social scandal I think he knew his true character had finally been revealed to me and he just smiled in a relaxed manner and said, "Sure, I'm not going anywhere except home."

I realized my life being "news" and winning a competition with Mark as the prize, would not make me happy the way I thought it would. I mean, the _Boy Rating Diary_ was invented before I realized that Mark was my perfect man all along. I'd really messed up. I so didn't want all our secrets released onto the World Wide Web.

What to do? First, I told Mouche everything, about how I thought I'd liked Trey and then Mark and then Trey again but really all along I was in love with Mark and now he'd asked me to the prom which meant I had lost the part but won a competition I didn't even want to win.

"Oh Phoebe, that's the game. How could you lose sight of the prize? We are supposed to split the profits, remember?" Mouche was pulling on her winter boots. "I think it's awesome that you won and Mark and Jet turned out to be totally different from how they seemed..."

"But I like him and I think he likes me."

"Most men would not choose love over good financial sense, but we are not most men..." C'mon," Mouche said, "We're late. What were you doing? Don't worry; I know what you've been doing. I've been waiting for ten whole minutes. We have to stop the Princesses before they announce our stupid game to the entire population of Sunrise." Mouche had always been good at fixing everything...

"They can keep the stupid prizes if they keep their mouths shut..." I mused aloud.

"Something certain Princesses have never been very good at," Mouche noted.

Teegan and Tory and Brooke and Freya had left early. We knew why: to prepare for the meeting, the unravelling of the _Boy-Rating Diary_ and the uploading of that diary onto an internet blog.

Mouche and I jumped into her car but it wouldn't start. Then we looked over to where Mark's car was, but he'd already left. We thought about taking my mom's car but we were fairly sure she'd go completely bananas so we tried to call a cab. It was late and there weren't any available for at least thirty minutes. We were in a major hurry to get to the Lake House but the Sunrise Town Square was busy that night with Christmas celebrations and people (the entire town) spilled out onto the streets.

It seemed quicker and safer to walk, even quicker to run. We hitched up our bridesmaid's dresses again and bolted like lightning through the Town Square and past the lakes to Jet's house. I tried to text Teegan and all the other girls a dozen times but for some reason their signals were not getting through. We now had major trust issues with the Princesses and, let's face it; we never should have risked leaving them alone with our thoughts, our words and our lives.

When we finally reached The Lake House, the lights were on upstairs and we pressed the buzzer and Brooke ushered us in.

"Hurry up, you guys need to be here for the unveiling," she joked.

We raced up the stairs two at a time only to find Tory seated at Teegan's desk, her hand hovering over the mouse as the Princesses gathered in a clump on the bed giggling. They each had an item draped over them and another in their hands: Teegan wore my sparkling sweater and my cherry cashmere scarf wrapped around her neck. She had claimed a pair of gloves with faux fur around the edges as she sprayed the scent of _Mademoiselle_ in the air. The scarf, shoes, coats and clothes were draped across the furniture. The treasure chest was flung open. The girls were smiling smugly. It was as if the Princesses were doing a victory dance around the bedroom.

Tory was scribbling something with Mouche's pen, the one she'd had to endure a whole date at the midnight zoo for, and all the pens from the various other dates (including my Century City date with my "older man" candy) were gathered in a bowl in the middle of the bed. Most of the items even had names and places tagged onto them.

Brooke was slightly plumper than the rest of us (_"not a dance major,"_ Teegan once noted), and had squeezed herself into vintage jeans. This particular Princess had my beret perched atop her sugary curls, delicate as fairy floss. The ice-skates were in a bundle of wrapping on the floor, in almost perfect condition and Freya wore sunglasses (at night) on the top of her head so she could still see clearly as she enfolded the pure cashmere coat around her body, typing on the keyboard with an eighteen carat gold bracelet dangling from her wrist.

"Not a charm bracelet," she smiled. The gold was obviously real. The best a boy in love could afford.

"Look what Jet got Mouche for Christmas. I was with him when he got it. It's perfect for the treasure chest!"

And I realized then that unless we were careful, the Princesses were still Princesses and would cease to be minor players in our story and somehow take on leading roles.

"Stop!" Mouche said as Tory put her hand on the button to upload.

"Chill out, it can always be modified," Brooke said incredulously.

"Yeah, besides its totally anonymous...just kidding," Teegan giggled. "We decided to give you two star billing."

"Stop!"

I pulled Tory's hand aside but Teegan just pushed right over the top of us and uploaded all the information the Princesses had deemed acceptable onto the web with one touch. It would take us at least a day to work out how to get rid of it and by that time it would have been sent straight to the inboxes of Jet and Mark.

And then I got this feeling, as if I was reading Teegan's mind... she'd been so nice to me over the last few weeks. She'd promised, sworn actually, to keep everything secret – as had all the girls. We had been foolish to trust them.

After the diary was uploaded onto the Sunrise High blog site, the house descended into chaos as pillows and quilts for the planned slumber party (the last time, we, as older teenage girls would probably ever participate in such a juvenile event) went, literally, out the window. Our night descended into a disaster of girl-crazy, cat fight proportions.


	28. Forever and After Chapter 28

_**Chapter 28**_

_**Forever and After**_

The next day, Monday, everyone at school looked at me and Mouche like we were not very nice people.

Someone made a twisted remark that we'd just been dating boys "for the money" which was so horribly untrue.

"Besides, there wasn't a single monetary prize on our list," I whispered to Mouche.

The Princesses had reverted to type and taken out all their comments. All the nasty ones they left, they attributed to Mouche and me. But even though most people do tend to believe the first version of a story, something strange was happening.

There was an alternative to the Princess blog that week. It was our secretly edited online dating diary. Mouche and I had only put boys on the site that we liked or had good things to say about and gradually we added girls that we had good things to say about as well. So, while the Princesses spent a few more days defaming the whole school and losing their popularity, people started coming to us for advice until Sunrise High became like a love fest of dating teenagers, all looking for tips on the best places to go and what to do and say.

Petra had started it all in her bedroom the night of the wedding reception and had uploaded it with our permission the next day, so although the Princesses got in first and even tried to keep the items, we got in next. _The Boy-Rating Diary_ contained all forms of evidences, and for once, we knew to tone down all our comments about the guys and make a fairly honest and accurate account of the teenage dating scene that was ongoing at Sunrise High.

Of course, the Princesses spent an entire week publishing excerpts of the second Boy-Rating Diary (omitting their authorship) and spent another week slandering us. We held our heads high. If the boys really cared about us we knew they would listen to our versions of the story, because Mrs Jones says, _"you can almost never really put off a man who is genuine about you. The man will never take someone's word over yours, or rarely, and in case he has any doubts about something, he should come to you first..."_

And they did.

Jet and Mark pretty much ignored what the Princesses had to say because manzamples don't read boy-rating blogs. Of course those girls never spoke another word to us, for the rest of junior year.

Mouche didn't seem to mind. "Do you honestly think we're going to see any of these people once we leave for New York?"

"I'm more worried about getting through senior..."

"It will all end up right in the end," Mouche said. "I have another idea...this time It's nothing to do with dating juniors...I think It's time to plan senior year and then college..."

"Because this all turned out so perfectly," I said archly.

"Perfectly," Wednesday said, clapping her hands and chewing a long strip of candy that neither of our mothers would have allowed her. There is so much to be learned about _joie de vivre_ from children under six.

Thom had called that day with the good news. Mouche's baby sister got the part.

"Do you realise that Wednesday has managed in three years to do what I haven't done in sixteen?"

"Yes, consolidate a college fund..."

Mrs Mouche was so thrilled.

"Dogs and children," I thought as I snuggled Mouche's new puppy in my arms.

"Don't worry," Mouche said, "We're sure to get our scholarships and if not, Wednesday can always give us a loan..."

Wednesday clapped her hands again. We were teaching her a new word every day, but her favorite one was love.

"It's all about the love," Mrs Mouche said. Our mom's stood in the hallway with new cups of coffee and magazines in hand. Trish and Mrs Mouche had a great business idea of their own - all about matching single parents - in cyberspace.

"Wow," Mouche said. "Do you think we should tell them what we know?"

"No," I said, "they're just going to have to find out the hard way like we did..."

"It's all about the love..." Mrs Mouche said, looking at Wednesday and Mouche and Trey as he walked through the door.

"Big love," my mom said looking at me with a smile. I smiled right back at her.

And I should tell you about France that summer and how excited everyone was when we arrived in Paris. We flew to London first and took the Eurostar to the Gare du Nord which takes about three hours from the centre of London to the centre of Paris. We had breakfast on the train in tiny plastic trays and Mouche kept her unused serviette for posterity, "and to paste into our new Dating Diary," she whispered.

The train rocked slightly from side to side when we went under the English Chanel and although Jet was fast asleep by this point, I noticed Mouche grabbed his hand because she gets motion sickness. I took a photograph of them on the digital camera my mother bought me to remember life's important moments. I also took loads of pictures of the boys sleeping during the long journey in between sampling tiny bottles of red wine, of Mouche posing in the many different berets she'd brought with her and saying, "I look _tres _sophisticated," of my feet resting against the window ledge (because they'd be doing tons of walking that very day), and of all the dull, industrial buildings the train ambled past as we entered the outskirts of Paris.

When the train finally stopped, Mark took charge and hailed a taxi at the station and as we drove to the Rue de la Grande Chaumiere I put my hand out of the window to feel the fresh Parisian air. In the Sixth Arrondissement, I noticed the cobbled streets were littered with puffs of tiny smoke volcanos winding up from the artistic-looking street cafes. Loads of Parisians smoke which is very atmospheric but something I'd remember to tell Wednesday not to do, no matter how sophisticated it looks, 'cos it's way bad for you.

The taxi stopped outside the Hotel des Academies et des Arts where we were staying. We checked in, then went off to discover the sights, wandering through the Jardin du Luxembourg and along many cobbled streets.

You may be wondering where "the parentals" went during all of our adventures. The boys had convinced the adults to let us travel in style and we were unchaperoned for at least thirty-six hours while they went to Bordeaux for a trade fair.

We went to the Champs Elysees the morning we arrived. After Mouche and I window shopped in all the designer boutiques and souvenir stores, we all decided to explore Sacre Coeur and Montmartre. Jet worked out how to get us Metro tickets using coins and the vending machine and we caught the underground train to Invalides and the Place de Clichy then on to Anvers. After checking our map, we walked up the steps from the subway and visited Sacre-Coeur. On the steps outside the church, we had an amazing view overlooking Paris in the pastel sun. We sat together on the steps amongst a group of tourists until Mouche said, "C'mon, let's go to _La Rive Gauche_," in a French accent.

After exploring the little market stalls and many shops and restaurants in Montmartre we found a bistro to have lunch opposite Notre Dame Cathedral. The cathedral was gothic and carved with intricate, lace-like stone around the entrance. Painting and architecture students spend hours sitting opposite the building, just to try and capture its brilliance in the changing light.

Across from the cathedral, near the river Seine, next to a cloud of smoke, we joked around as we ordered bread and soup for lunch. When the traditional meal arrived we had to crack the layer of cheese baked on top of the soup bowl and dip our spoons beneath to retrieve the warm liquid. It was delicious, as was the wine that our parents would never have allowed us to drink. Strangely, no one asked our ages in Paris but the waiter frowned every time Mark attempted to speak French.

We took lots of photographs of Notre Dame after lunch but we'd had our fill of architecture by the time we reached the Eiffel Tower, even though the Parisian icon was impressive from anyone's perspective. Mark and I took the elevator to the upper floor of the tower but Mouche and Jet disappeared momentarily behind a crowd of tourists.

"I wonder where they went?" Mark said with a smile, before we kissed overlooking the city of love.

"...I know, they were busy macking all over each other," Wednesday said later on when I told her the story of how Jet and Mouche got lost. Her verbal skills had really developed.

"Well, yes Wednesday, I think they were, but I'm not sure we need to go there..."

Wednesday giggled as I continued to tell her about Paris.

"That afternoon we took a boat ride along the Seine. Jet arranged for us to travel back towards the hotel in one of the famous Bateaux-Mouches with a glass covered deck. Mouche was very impressed to be floating in her own name..."

"I always wanted to be famous," Mouche joked.

You could tell Jet totally loved her by then, and not just because they got "lost" again for an extra-long time while we all went to explore the Musee d'Orsay. Mark wasn't really into art "but I'm pretending to be, for your sake," he told me, "which shows you how devoted he is becoming," Mouche whispered in my ear over dinner that night. She could talk. Jet was holding her hand everywhere we went by then. He seemed way in love with Mouche, if you ask me, although everyone said they were too young to call it that.

On our last day in Paris, Mark and Jet explored the gastronomical surprises in Lafayette Gourmet while Mouche and I shopped in Galeries Lafayette and Printemps. But although the large designer stores were inspirational, the polka dot dresses and geometric designer gowns and flowing skirts _tres chic_, we found ourselves drawn to the colorful market stalls along the street that divided the shopping centres. It was whilst sorting through items for the people we loved back home that we started to miss Sunrise.

Parisian clothes, food and shopping in general were amazing (after we overcame the language barrier by referring to our tiny iPod guides when we couldn't remember a French word), but we still missed the vintage shops and department stores back home. We couldn't believe how lucky we were to be in this amazing city, but we were really missing our moms when Petra surprised us with a long-distance call from Los Angeles. Mouche answered her cell and Mark's guardians are sure to be surprised when they get the telephone bill for that month.

Petra was waiting at the airport with our moms and Trey and his new girlfriend (yes, you guessed it, Missy), to meet us all when we returned home. Petra was tanned after spending the summer in Cabo with her new boyfriend Josh, and his family. She'd been only too happy to take our advice about what to wear and say to impress Josh. It appeared to have worked out better than anyone expected.

Mouche, Petra and I took Wednesday shopping in the stores situated along the path that curved from Bel Air into Sunrise, the day after we arrived back from Paris. We were still a bit jet lagged but it was the last day of summer and we didn't want to miss the sales.

Our favorite vintage store was closing and everything was less expensive than usual.

Mouche, Petra and I tried on a whole bunch of dresses and skirts and vintage jeans. Wednesday tried on hats and sunglasses that were too big for her and even a pair of cork platform sandals that she could barely stand up in.

Mouche and I smiled. We couldn't believe how lucky we were to have had such a great holiday, amazing boyfriends and a new, slightly younger friend to show the ropes. Although our dating advice was obviously beneficial, we assured Petra across an accessory aisle that impressing boys wasn't the most important thing in life.

"Sometimes, It's more important to impress yourself," Mouche said, adjusting a pair of elbow length, movie star, satin gloves.

"However, if you want more tips there is always the new Boy-Rating blog we've started in preparation for college," I added.

"But sometimes you have to look deeper than the surface of things," Mouche said.

It's what the boy rating diaries taught us, and she was right. I always envied the fact that Mouche could say what she meant and mean what she said.

You may be wondering about the Princesses.

Jet's neighbors were obliged to attend summer school. Their blog had taken over their lives. They managed to add so many nasty words and images to the site that it crashed and their grades (which weren't very good to begin with) suffered.

They were plotting their next devious adventure across discarded academic notes as we shopped. Stars in their own little world, the Princesses would soon be forgotten by us. Far from seeing their popularity skyrocket, it plummeted. When they were finally outed with the top-secret information we'd kept hidden from them in the original Boy Rating Diary, they totally lost it.

You didn't think we'd show them everything, did you? We had tonnes of secrets ready to unleash on our world, but maybe we'd hold off, for now. Mouche envisaged showing an abridged version of the original diary, one day, to her own children and had saved each of the treasure chest items. We donated the rest to Goodwill.

And that's the end of the story.

Almost.

When they were eighteen, Mouche and Jet eloped to New York. My best friend always knew what she wanted. We were going to share an apartment but I ended up moving in with Mouche and Jet for that one golden summer.

So it wasn't exactly as we thought it would be.

I never did go to Julliard. I got a scholarship to NYU instead and I became a law student.

Mouche, who didn't even want to be a triple threat or a boy chasing guru, had the perfect husband and ended up going to Julliard to study dance on a scholarship. She planned to study law at night, "when I'm old," she told me, "like thirty or something..."

But Mouche never did get old. She was shot in a convenience store in New York just six months after you were born. You were with Jet at the time. Mouche had stopped dancing the previous year to have you. It was nothing to give up, compared to what she gained, she told me. I saw what a wonderful mother she made.

I wanted to write this all down and give you the diary to read when you are older. I hope you don't mind.

So many of the important things I knew because of Mouche. She sure taught the Princesses and me a thing or three. As a junior lawyer, living in NYC, working sixteen hour days, I took a weekend off and went home to Sunrise to pore over the diary notes and letters we wrote each other. I picked up old photographs and digital ones, the scribbled glitter words, the gifts and phrases of our teenage world. All of these items brought Mouche back to me. Finally I saw her with scratched knees standing on the porch in the shining sunlight, yelling out and waving for me to come outside when we were eight. Maybe she was waving goodbye.

I picked up the items we had folded and placed, one by one, in the treasure chest. Mrs Mouche had given them to me, "because," Mrs Mouche had said, "_she would've wanted you to have them_." The items really belonged to her. Mouche was the heart of the game.

The night she graduated from Julliard we had a huge party. Mouche held a glass of champagne decadently in her hand. She wore the latest, most fashionable shoes and the famous jeans from our treasure chest as she gave her impromptu "commencement speech."

In her words, Mouche incorporated so many of the things we'd learnt when we were young girls, not just about being women but about being human:

"If you strive to do and offer others your best, if you live to serve your art but do not cut yourself off from the world, if you give more than you get and always treat your audience with respect, then you might be invited to the most fabulous party on the planet, whatever your dream and from wherever your starting place. Hopefully, when you leave that party, the people will feel happier than they were before they met you, kinder than they might have been if they hadn't. The colors around them will be more intense, the music more beautiful, and the costumes more lavish. Then the dancing will seem more spectacular, the singing pitch-perfect, the acting better than real life, the food and drink more delicious than anyone imagined and yourself more appreciative of the sparkling applause..."

The sound of hands clapping flew over the auditorium as she spoke. It was better than I'd ever had when I'd been a student on stage at school, better than I'd had in the one Broadway show I'd finally been picked for after six months of auditioning, before I quit and went to Law School full-time. In those six months Mouche had put me up in her apartment and never given up, "because you would never give up on me," Mouche said.

But she never did go to Law School like she intended. She didn't get to see her brother graduate from Medical School or become a surgeon even though she always thought he would and she didn't see Wednesday bank her college fund cheque or become the head of her own little Princess clique (a kinder one, she promised me, with a twinkle in her eyes). And worst of all, she didn't see you grow up which is an unspeakable loss.

Six months after she died she came to me in a dream, her blonde hair making her seem more like an angel than ever before. In reality, she looked a lot like Wednesday looks now, except her hair was poker straight and in all the commercials that Wednesday did, her hair was curly, _"like a Princess,"_ Wednesday noted.

"Who said blondes aren't smart?" Mouche asked, which is why I'm giving this to you. Because the things that matter aren't the items you can see or touch or buy but the true love and friendship enclosed herein.

Mouche would have wanted you to have them with more love than I can ever bestow, try as I might...

Your Godmother,

Phoebe Knightly.

Twitter: /summerdaylight summerdaylight  
Blog: 

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